What Goes Around, Comes Around
by MarquessaS
Summary: This was my first attempt at fanfiction. It was written quite some time ago-takes place at a point after Gordon walker decides to hunt Sam. The boys begin a journey that re-unites them with old enemies and old friends.
1. Chapter 1

That sonofabitch got out...He got out...HE GOT OUT!

This whole thing--the stranger's frantic call, the demon sighting, this damned place--all a set-up.  
Furious thoughts flew through Dean's mind as he ran. Had to find Sam before Gordon did...  
He vaulted over a mossy log and stopped, flattening to the cool, damp earth. He listened--heard nothing. He tried to control his breathing,--his lungs burned from the exertion. He lay in the ferns, waiting for a telltale snap or rustle that would signal Gordon's presence. Again, he held his breath and listened...  
--quiet--  
He carefully looked round to survey his position. All around him, the poplars grew in loose groups, with rocky ground between. Not great cover. A thin undergrowth hid boggy patches. He could just make out the outline of the roof of the shed, which meant his car was to the left--not too far.  
He needed bullets. His .44 was spent-- useless. If he could just get to the damn car...

He cursed Sam for not answering his cell., then felt panic rise again--maybe he couldn't answer...  
Dean crept forward a few feet, testing his momentary safety. F--king Gordon. How the hell was he loose?!

Good...a little closer to the car--to sanctuary. He crept forward again, skillfully avoiding making any sounds.

Dean was well equipped to move with stealth--his dad had drilled them in such skills.  
But Gordon was no ordinary pursuer. He was a hunter,--with all the same instincts and abilities the Winchesters relied on.

He paused again. Still no sound.

The silence was shattered by the sound of his cell. He quickly flipped it open and whispered "Sam?"  
He was relieved to hear his brother's tense voice.

"Where are you?" Sam whispered.

"'Bout 300 yards west of the car." He looked around quickly for some landmark. "Do you see that big dead birch?" --(yes)-- "--about 20 feet from it. "Where are you?"

Sam was almost at the car. "Do you see him?"

"Not for about ten minutes" said Dean. He continued his creeping toward his goal..  
"Watch your back, Sammy. That bastard's good with that crossbow. He was--"

Dean didn't have a chance to finish his warning. A bolt struck him hard in the side of his right knee, passing through it--the wicked flanges of the steel head protruding from the other side.  
The force of the blow sent him crashing down through the undergrowth with a strangled shout. He rolled several times, until his back landed hard against a splintered trunk, winding him. His cell, still open, landed in the damp earth a few yards away.

He lay with his back against the tree, trying to breathe. The solid agony from his leg disoriented him--he shook his head, trying to think,-- to assess. He reached down to the knee and felt the protruding shaft. "Sonofabitch...!"  
He couldn't think--the pain was suffocating--couldn't catch his breath. He groaned and desperately  
tried to position his leg to somehow lessen the hurt,-but the bolt was wedged firmly between the bones--every movement ground them against it.

All the while, Sam listened helplessly. He heard the crashing, the yell. He could hear his brother's laboured breathing. He yelled his name into the phone over and over..

--breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...  
.Dean could hear Sam's anxious voice emanating from the brush near him, but he dared not draw attention to himself by attempting to retrieve his cell.. He figured his crash and yell were enough of a spectacle--but Gordon didn't necessarily know exactly where he landed. He stayed still. He wished Sam would shut up--his voice was like a beacon that Gordon could follow right to him.

He knew he was a sitting duck--had to think--to think--  
He looked around for something--anything--with which to defend himself. All he could reach was a fist sized rock, but he gripped it like a drowning man,--expecting to have to brain his adversary with it--David and Goliath style.  


He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, nausea threatening to overtake him. God he hoped Sam was alright.

When he opened his eyes again, his heart sank. Gordon stood before him. He had been deafened by the hissing sound in his ears--hadn't even heard his approach.

Gordon lowered the crossbow and laughed at him. "That was easy. ...Bit rusty, are you Dean?!" He glanced down at the knee. "Ooh...sorry about that. Was aiming for your head."

Dean grimaced in reply. He prayed Sam was still on the line.

Gordon continued.. "You know... I always liked you, Dean. You and I--we're really the same. But you're blind, man. Couldn't see your brother for the monster he is. I'd have left you alone... But prison--well it changes you, Dean. I'm not a forgiving man anymore. I am gonna kill your brother. But I'm kinda pissed at you, too."

"Go to hell, you bastard...!" spat Dean. " If you so much as look at Sam--"  
Gordon cut him off. "Shut up, you arrogant jackass. Look at you--what are you gonna do??"

Dean glared back. "You under-estimate him. I guarantee you, Sam will finish this."

"Well--" Gordon said flatly. "I doubt it." He raised the crossbow. Squeezed the trigger slowly. "Oh and Dean...you go to hell."

And Dean felt a second bolt viciously slam into his chest. The force of it--point blank--shattered his shoulder blade and embedded firmly in the trunk beneath him. The stone rolled uselessly out of his hand.  
Wide-eyed with shock, he looked down in disbelief at the shaft protruding from under his jacket, then back up to Gordon's face. He tried to speak, but a roaring blackness overtook him.

Sam had heard the entire exchange. Dean had made no sound after Gordon's last words. Sam didn't know if that was good or bad. Sweat and tears blinded him as his ears strained desperately for some affirmation that his brother was still alive. All he heard was Gordon's crunching retreat through the undergrowth.  
He didn't dare call Dean's name now --couldn't risk alerting Gordon to his only link to Dean.

All Sam wanted to do was race to Dean's position--but he knew it would be suicide for both of them. Had to quell that instinct and get to the car,-- get more clips--a rifle. Had to get to Gordon--. He couldn't save Dean unless that threat was neutralized. He moved warily in the direction of the impala, covering the terrain as fast as he dared.

Sam stopped,-- listening. Something caught his attention. He realized it was his own name he heard.. Someone--it wasn't Dean-- was calling him.

Gordon. Taunting him--inviting him to show himself.

Telling him Dean was dead.

_.. Someone--it wasn't Dean-- was calling him. Gordon. Taunting him--inviting him to show himself.  
Telling him Dean was dead._

No, No, No--NO!!

"Come on Sammy. --You know I'm not lying to you. Dean is gone. -- Trying to save you. It's all your doing, Sam. Come on out--you gotta face this. You know the Devil's in you-- Join your brother, Sammy..."

It was the last "sammy" that did it. No one calls him that but Dean--nobody earned that right like his brother had. Sam felt a dam burst within himself--didn't care if he had no weapon--he'd tear Gordon apart with his own two hands. An un-earthly howl came out of him-- he launched himself in the direction of the voice. He had no concern for his own safety anymore. Sam had never felt so murderous. There was no stopping this--!  


Gordon was taken aback by the strange sound and sudden crashing movement headed his way. He struggled to get off a shot--missed--tried to place another arrow. He fumbled, --looked up,-- dropped the bow,--frantically tried to pull his gun from his jacket--  
He saw Sam's face--the rictus of hate on his normally placid features. Threw his arms up--

Sam crashed headlong into his enemy. The two rolled over and over, --thrashing wildly through the brush--faces whipped by branches—bruised by the sharp stones--each trying desperately to gain a foothold, --any advantage. Gordon got his hands around Sam's throat, --dug his thumbs in deep. --Choking,--Sam clawed at and gripped Gordon's ears and bashed his head against the ground. Gordon managed a vicious knee to Sam's stomach--Gagging, Sam brought his elbow down into Gordon's throat. At that moment, his enemy was stilled. Sam pushed the suddenly limp, unresisting weight off him, rolled over and staggered to his feet. He stood, panting, looking down at the prone figure. --snarled a curse-- then hauled off and gave it a solid kick in the groin. He wished the bastard was awake for that one.

Heaving,-he tore his attention away. He wiped his face with both hands, --worked at calming his thoughts down--they still whirled in an adrenalin-fueled chaos.  
--Dean! Had to locate Dean—

He had the presence of mind to bind Gordon's hands and feet before leaving him.

Sam searched his pockets for his cell--no luck... -- he must have lost it during the struggle. Near exhaustion, he criss-crossed the immediate area but still could not locate it. Panic welled up in his breast--tears of frustration stinging his eyes. He'd lost his only link….

He sat down--head in his hands--collecting his wits. What had Dean said--he was somewhere near some tree—a big dead birch. Raising his head--Sam scanned the surroundings for a landmark that fit. Saw a likely candidate in the distance. He got up slowly, took a deep and shaky breath and set off in that direction. Had to hurry--light was failing.

Dean was aware of nothing. His head hung limply against his chest--cheek actually resting on the fletched end of the arrow. But he was still breathing--shallow rasping breaths. He would have slid sideways, but the bolt held him tightly against the rough bark of the tree. There was surprisingly little blood on his shirt--the stout shaft effectively plugged its own entrance wound. His back was wetter, his body weight resting heavily on the shaft where it exited.

Sam crashed through the brush towards the dead birch, stumbling—careless of where his feet landed. More than once his footing failed, and he slid, tumbling against the moss and stones, adding new scrapes to his bruises But nothing deterred his forward momentum--and he reached his goal, winded, --damp with sweat. His urgent study of the surroundings showed him nothing. He rested for a moment--hand against the trunk--and remembered the conversation with Dean--what had he said? West of the car--20 feet from the tree.

He began to scour the most- likely area--panicking that light would fail--

The sight of his brother froze him in his tracks.

There was Dean—lying oddly, with his shoulders against the base of a tree, unmoving. Sam couldn't see what held him there.  
"Dean…!" he shouted—


	2. Chapter 2

2

Sam stumbled towards him, falling to his knees and lifting his brother's chin gently, begging that he would find life in those eyes.

"Dean...Dean...! Hey, --c'mon man--it's Sammy...c'mon Dean..."

Dean stirred and moaned briefly--his eyelids fluttered, his breathing ragged.

--_god, don't wake me up—_

Sam was nearly incoherent with relief, and tried to pull his brother close in an emotional embrace.

But with a sharp intake of breath, Dean tried weakly to keep him at bay. He resisted the pull, a shaking left hand raised against Sam--struggling to push him away.

Dean's eyes were wide open now--tears welling,--he tried to voice his protest--make his brother cease the excruciating movement, --but he couldn't inhale enough to voice it. His face screwed up in pain.—the tears squeezed from his lashes and down his face,  
Sam stopped and pulled back,-- fearfully looking Dean over, --assessing his injuries. –Only then did he realize with horror why he resisted. The arrow, protruding from under the jacket. Another one, through the knee.

It dawned on him, with a sickening dismay, that Dean was pinned to the tree.

"-Oh god, ….Dean—"

Shaking off his shock, Sam put his hand to his brother's chest --searching for the arrow's point of entry.

His hand brushed against the firmly rooted shaft. and his stomach knotted.. It was embedded high, just to the left of his breastbone--apparently missing anything that would have resulted in his immediate demise. Sam searched for the telltale froth of blood in Dean's mouth, -finding none—and was relieved then that it seemed to have missed his lung. The failing light showed little blood from the wounds as well--lessening the danger that he would bleed out before rescue.

Dean was fretful--struggling to speak—he whispered haltingly-

"Sam--_Gordon..."_

"Shhhhh--We're safe Dean--Gordon's taken out. Don't speak..."

Sam still supported Dean's head in his hands. Dean closed his eyes. For a moment, his features relaxed with relief..  
Sam leaned closer, rested Dean's chin on his own shoulder, and slid his hand between Dean's back and the tree. He could feel his brother go rigid,--the fingers grip hard on his arm--but he had to see what needed to be done to release him.

It was tight--the bolt was immobile—it wasn't coming out of that tree..  
His hand came away bloody. Sam swore vehemently under his breath.

His handling was increasing his pain, he saw the distress etched on Dean's damp face. Even in the poor light, Sam could see he looked ashen, his pupils were dilated, --darkening the green of his eyes.

"--Easy, Dean--sorry--"

Sam's face was taut with concern. "--I can't free you without a saw or something. We need paramedics--"  
Dean struggled to stay alert, but his eyes were rolling. He had truly, --in all his experience—never felt such a blinding agony as this. Demons, ghosts—they all had done their worst, -but it was good, old fashioned human cruelty that earned the dubious honour.  
He didn't want to be conscious, he wished the comforting velvet blackness would return--

"Dean...look at me--stay with me, buddy--do you know where your cell is?"

Dean groaned, and gathering himself--raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the brush where it had fallen. Sam gently lowered his head and scrambled to the spot--hands flailing through the plants, trying to feel the familiar shape.. He found it, and dialed frantically, but realized, when it would not connect,--that the battery was long dead.  
Frustration screamed in his head--.

"F--K!!" He raged, violently flinging it away. He choked back a sob. He'd beaten Gordon and found his brother alive, and now he was gonna die anyway, and there was nothing Sam could do about it--  


He fought to get a grip on himself and came back to Dean, trying to mask his fear and emotion. He raised Dean's chin again—it seemed to ease his breathing a bit.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut—then whispered with difficulty. "sam...-the car...in the trunk... Side-cutters..."

"I can't leave you--"

"...you have to..."

Sam knew he was right. With no phone, he had to find a way to cut Dean loose and get him to hospital himself. And with the evening light waning--  
He took off his jacket and shirt, leaving himself his tee shirt--then gingerly arranged the coat over Dean to protect him somewhat against the gathering damp. He bunched up his shirt, placing it under Dean's chin to keep his head up a bit.

He forced Dean to make eye contact—  
"Dean…_Dean—"_

"…mmhmm…."

"Ok Dean—I'm gonna go to the car. I'll only be gone for a little while—don't try to speak—be still. --I'll be right back—"

Dean nodded slightly, and whispered-

"…not going anywhere…"

He managed a wan smile at the irony.

Sam took off down the slope toward the car.

Alone for the moment,—and free of any audience, -Dean gave in to the pain that was threatening to rob him of breath and will-- allowing himself the luxury of crying out loud.

He had held back in front of his younger sibling—he didn't want to deepen the panic he saw in those eyes. —But goddammit, it hurt--_it hurt—_

He couldn't move or breathe without suffering the arrows excruciatingly invasive presence. He wanted to claw it out somehow,--anything—just get it out. He was glad he didn't have a gun within reach—it would have been damned tempting….

The sun was now very low on the horizon—Sam had a hard time seeing where he was going. In a short time—it seemed an eternity-- he reached the impala, and opened the trunk—rooting through 'til the suitable implement revealed itself. He grabbed the first aid kit and a blanket. And he found Dean's silver flask—testing the contents to make sure there was something stiffer than holy water in it.

He attempted to retrace his steps, but the darkness was deepening—long shadows confused his path. For a panicky moment he thought he'd lost his way. But the dead birch—his landmark—glowed ghostly silver in the half-light.

He found Dean exactly as he'd left him—checking to make sure his pulse was still regular. Dean was starting to shiver from shock and blood loss. Sam's heart ached at the struggling sound of his breathing—restricted as it was by the skewering to the tree. He knew he had to get him out of here fast.

He arranged the blanket around his brother's form, trying to support the injured knee as best as he could as well. Dean barely acknowledged the attention—his strength was ebbing alarmingly…

Sam collected his thoughts for a second—planning his next motions to minimize their painful impact.  
There was so little room to maneuver between Dean's back and the tree. He would have to force his hand, and the tool, between them. He knew that meant sliding Dean's body forward on the arrow shaft, --he shuddered to think 

how much that would hurt him--but there was no other choice. He debated whether to warn him, or just do it.

He decided on both. But first--

"Dean…Dean, look at me."

Hetried to focus on Sam's voice…

"Drink some of this--"

Dean swallowed the whiskey gratefully, --a few choking sips. It gave him a bit of comforting warmth. He turned his hand in a thumbs-up gesture.

Then, resting Dean's head on his shoulder again—Sam warned-

"I'm gonna cut you loose now, Dean--do you understand?"

"yeah…"…he whispered,--shutting his eyes tightly. -- _Figured the drink had strings attached_…..

Sam carefully forced his hand between the trunk and Dean's back again—once more feeling his brother stiffen in a painful shudder.--He closed his own eyes, held his breath, and pulled Dean slightly forward, until he had just enough room to slide the side cutters in between.  
He could feel Dean's breath quicken-- his ragged gasp. Sam knew that would have been a scream if Dean had been able. Dean's weak grip tightened and clutched at Sam's shirt—but he forced himself to ignore it, -pushing the tool further, until he felt the open blades contact the shaft.

He squeezed the handles, feeling the crunch of the graphite—crushing through until the blades met,--and then Dean was free.

Dean slumped forward with a shuddering sob, his body going slack against Sam. Unsure if Dean was hearing them, Sam mumbled reassurances and comforts while he held him there—as much for himself as for his brother. He took the wadded shirt and pressed it to the wound on his back, which was now bleeding heavily.  
-Carefully, he laid him down on his side on the leaves.. He found the first aid kit—and pulled out tape and a thick cotton pad—then raised Dean's layers of clothing,--steeling himself to see where all that blood was coming from.  
Locating the sticky, splintered end, he pressed the pad over it, taping it tightly in place.

Dean didn't react this time.

Sam took a second to clear the sweat and tears from his own eyes., --his tee-shirt and hair were damp from the stress. He allowed himself a good draught from Dean's flask.,--worrying over the approaching dusk.

He stood up, and surveyed his earlier path to the car—trying to remember the rise and fall of the terrain. The last thing he wanted to do was dump Dean onto the rocky ground in the process of carrying him to the impala. And he knew that Dean, --although shorter than he, --was fit, and carried the weight of muscle on his frame—it would be tough to carry him the full distance.

Dean was out of it, thank God. He didn't respond to the jarring of the protruding arrows as Sam carefully gathered him up in his arms, tipping his body towards his own, trying to keep Dean's head from lolling back—he didn't want to add being brained by a tree to Dean's list of woes.

Sam picked his way carefully—following his mental breadcrumb trail, all the while listening tensely to his brother's erratic breathing. His arm muscles burned and trembled. On the verge of losing it, he snorted a laugh over the remembered words from that old song….  
--_He Ain't Heavy_-- my _ass_…he thought.--_That guy from the Hollies never tried to carry his brother a half-mile through rocky, slippery forest in the bloody dark._

There were more efficient ways to carry someone, he knew—but none of them accommodated a victim who had arrows sticking out, back and front. He paused occasionally, dropping down to one knee to recharge his faltering muscles. He could see the light of the car now—he'd left the door open for that reason.

Without warning, Sam's feet slid out from under him and he landed hard on his hip, bludgeoning his elbow on the rocks,--just managing to keep Dean from taking a header out of his arms. Swearing, he got back up to his knees and took a moment to regroup and catch his breath.  
He didn't realize he was squeezing Dean so tightly to himself until he heard him groan –

"--_crushing_ me—"

Sam relaxed his grip a little.

"Sorry, Dean--almost there—"


	3. Chapter 3

3

He breathed a shaky sigh of relief by the cars side, sliding his brother as gently as he could across the back seat, settling him on his left side.  
Unfortunately Dean was alert now, and none of the jarring was lost on him. Tears streaked down his face and he moaned and swore with every jolt. Sam fired the car up and threw it into reverse, one hand keeping Dean from rolling forward off the bench seat. The car rocked over a large bump, -- Sam fervently hoped it was Gordon… Gravel flew up as he flung it into drive and hit the road at a speed that was way too fast for such abrupt directional changes. The impala never let him down, though. Her weight and power (Dean would have said her loyalty) kept her on track..  
Sam realized he had no clue where the area hospital was, but he floored it in the direction of civilization. His mind was whirling, and he thought-- _Where the hell is a cop when you need one?!_

Almost on cue, a police car hidden at the crossroad he'd just raced through flew up behind him, lights flashing, and siren blaring.  
Sam braked hard, in a cloud of dust, --motioning to the officer. She pulled in right behind him, got out and approached the impala,--ready to draw her weapon..

As she reached Sam's open window, he pointed to his brother in the back and shouted urgently --"HOSPITAL!"

Her split second assessment of the situation told her it was indeed critical—she nodded and ran back to the cruiser, pulling ahead of Sam and motioning him to follow.

Sam was never so happy to be nearly busted.  
He looked back at Dean—alarmed to see his un-focused, half-closed eyes.  
His outstretched hand, --still holding Dean in place, —could feel his rapid, shallow breathing.

_--Wish that cop would floor it--_  
The officer radioed ahead, and led Sam with as much speed as public safety would allow.  
Sam was gritting his teeth and white-knuckling the steering wheel—willing her to _hurry the hell up_.

They roared up to the Emergency doors— staff already standing there, briefed and ready., and suddenly it was now all out of Sam's hands. He watched helplessly as they brushed past him, scooped Dean out of the car and swiftly, efficiently,--got him on a gurney, disappearing through the doors.

Sam, left standing alone, was struck by the sudden silence of the denouement. He just stood there, staring ,-immobile.  
He felt small, and useless,--like a kid lost in a huge department store—wanting rescue, but not knowing where to turn…

-He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Officer Margaret Welles could see the young man was pretty shocky, --she gently, firmly, guided him into the emergency room.  
Paperwork needed to be filled out,--statements made.

Sam dug out their most reliable false ID and filled out the forms like an automaton. He remembered Gordon, trussed and left in the woods,--described the "un-provoked" attack by this escaped jailhouse psychopath while he and Dean were 'hiking,' And he warned the officer that the bastard was still out there. _—wearing impala tire tracks,-- if there is a god--_

She contacted her station, requesting back-up, and left to retrieve the fugitive.  
But not before giving a reassuring squeeze to Sam's arm.

"Your brother will get through this, Sam. He's lucky to have you looking out for him. I'll check in on you later."

He was grateful—he felt terribly alone.  
He was so anxious to hear from a doctor—why did it always take so damned long to get any word?!

Dean was groaning--trying to voice his objections to what felt, to him, -like terribly rough handling by the medics. He wanted Sam—wanted to know he was safe. He was irrational with pain-- he fought against the anesthetic mask, resisted their attempts to position him for x-rays—threatened to pull out the shaft himself –demanding to know where his little brother was--  
At last, Dean surrendered to the sweet darkness as it enveloped him. They were all quite relieved when he went under…  


An exhausted Sam was shaken awake by the attending surgeon. He tried to comprehend what he was being told—blinking gritty eyes and shaking the cobwebs from his brain—--_surgery went well— metal plate in the shoulder—no organ damage—cartilage removed from the knee--lucky man--would he like to see him now?  
_  
The last part brought him to clarity.  
He cautiously approached Dean's bedside. He hated having to see his brother, always the lion, --laid out and weak like a wet kitten in a hospital bed. It was unnerving—like the universe was off-kilter, somehow.  
But he was grateful to see him resting comfortably, his colour a little better. Dean was still sedated, a thin oxygen tube easing his breathing.  
A doctor came in, stood at the bedside--looked down at Dean, and chuckled.

"Ornery devil,-- this brother of yours. Kept us from doing anything for him until we convinced him _you_ were fine."

Sam looked up—eyes soft.

"….He's ok?"

"He will be. -- if he lets himself. The surgery was uncomplicated. I think our biggest challenge will be to keep him in that knee brace and sling, and off his feet."

_--You don't know the half of it,--_thought Sam_. --We're gonna need a straitjacket--_  
"Thanks, Doc."

"He'll be out for a few hours. You might want to get some rest yourself, son."

A quick pat to the shoulder and the surgeon continued on his rounds.

Sam slumped down into the hard vinyl armchair beside the bed. He reached over and snagged a second seat, dragged it over and put his weary legs up.  
In minutes he was asleep.

He awoke with a start—stiff, but not cold—some kind soul had arranged a cotton blanket over him. He had no idea how many hours had flown by. He rubbed his eyes and glanced over at Dean.  
Dean returned his gaze.

"Hey, Dean….how do you feel?"

"ok.." he whispered, wincing.

"Liar."

"..yeah……._crappy_.."

Sam thought Dean was drifting off, but his eyes opened again and he looked at Sam.

Sam, knowing the drill, -cut him off.

"_Yes_ Dean,-- I'm fine. Now quit talking."

" –just wanna say thanks…."

Sam was a bit taken aback by the sincerity. Dean must still be feeling the anesthetic…  
"Quid-pro-quo, brother." he smiled.

Dean still struggled to say more--Sam leaned closer to hear his thin whisper.

"….if you ever drive my car like that again, -I'll kick your ass…"

"What?" Sam asked innocently,--vividly remembering the flying gravel, the squealing, --the dust.

"--gear teeth flying off all over the place…" Dean drifted off before finishing.

Officer Welles came in to see how both were doing, reassuring Sam that the fugitive was safely in custody.

"He was raving on and on about demons. I think he'll be undergoing mental assessment. Quite the nut-case, it seems."

She handed a huge steaming coffee and a muffin to Sam, which he took gratefully.  
"You're an angel " he said, through a mouthful.

She patted his disheveled head and bade he and Dean good luck.  
The coffee and snack made Sam feel a bit more human. Checking to see that Dean still slept—he took the opportunity to wash up in the restroom. He nearly laughed out loud at the bushman returning his gaze in the mirror.  
Dirt and scratches all over his face. Sticks in his hair. The shape his knuckles were in would have made Dean proud.  
He did his best to repair all that with some good hot water and antiseptic soap, and then took a moment to go out to the car for a fresh shirt.

Surveying the gory mess in the back seat—he shook his head.  
… _Too close that time. –way too bloody close_.

For a moment-he despaired that they would ever be able to live with the peace and contentment that (most) normal people took for granted. He longed for "happily ever after".  
Sighing,-he made a mental note to get the car cleaned later.

Dean was stirring as he returned. Not quite awake, but squirming, his brow furrowed. His skin had a bit of a sheen. Sam buzzed a nurse.

She came in, checked his vitals and gently awakened him.  
"Dean, honey—how's the pain? Are you hurting?" she asked.

"….a little.."- he admitted. --_no point in trying to hide it when you're lying flat in a hospital bed--_

"I'll fix you up. You're due anyway."

She injected something into the IV.

"Thanks" he said, now reluctantly fully awake.  
The tension in his face relaxed visibly as it began to take effect.

"Dean Winchester—human shish-kebab. ...So how are you feeling?" Sam asked, settling into his chair. He was trying to appear nonchalant, --Dean always resisted his mothering--but he could never hide the worry in his eyes.

"..shish-kebab--?"

"Yeah, you know—meat on a stick."

"Nice, dude.….that's _gross_." Dean replied.

"--Bring me a drink?"

"Maybe. Have you been good?….Your doctor said you gave them a quite the hard time last night, you know…" admonished Sam.

"..bullshit. " said Dean. "--I was the model patient"

"Sure you were. "

Sam handed him a small cup and sipped his own. "Seriously, Dean—how are you—and skip the usual _I'm Fine—it's all good _crap."

"Ok—I hurt like hell and I wanna get out of here. I wanna drink my freaking face off and sleep in a nice soft bed with someone a _lot _prettier and less hairy than you.—are you happy?."

He winced. "What the hell did they do to me, anyway?—man,--my back is killing me…"

"The arrow broke your shoulder blade, Dean. They had to put in a plate. You'll be setting off airport metal detectors naked from now on."

_No I won't_, vowed Dean.  
"How long do I have to wear this getup?" he looked down irritably at the very secure rig immobilizing his right arm against his ribs. "And the leg thing?"

"The brace—about three weeks. After that you get a smaller, hinged one. –Not sure about the sling. We'll have to ask."  


Not that it mattered—Dean figured he'd ditch both as soon as he could get away with it…

Reading his mind, Sam set him straight.  
"Don't even think it, Dean. If you want to screw up your knee for the rest of your life, go ahead. --Plus, you just had a six inch portal to your innards put in your back. You _might_ wanna let that one heal. Get used to it now—you won't be driving, or doing much else, for weeks. And don't give me that rotten look. You think I'm looking forward to having _you_ as a back seat driver?? Cripes--just kill me now!"

Sam wasn't putting up with any predictable Dean nonsense—he was too tired and sore to be the diplomat today.

Dean, still pale and feeling disconcertingly weak,- wasn't up to arguing.  
He glowered and settled back against the pillow, --closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. He was suddenly aware of how deeply tired he was—the painkiller made him drowsy.  
And he knew Sam was right. Can't just get up and walk away from crap like this, no matter how much he wanted to. Fresh and ugly memories flooded to his mind—but he mentally pushed them back to the periphery.  
He wanted to ask about Gordon—about Sam's own adventures the previous evening,--he hadn't missed the condition of Sam's knuckles-- but he just didn't have the energy. It would keep until later.

Sam could see the tiredness in his brother's face.

"You gonna sleep for a bit?" he asked.

"…yeah" ….Dean yawned. "Well--I guess you need to find a place to stay around here. You look like death warmed over yourself, Sam. Why don't you go crash and come back here around dinner time? You can bring me something that's actually edible."

Sam was about to protest, but Dean cut him off.

"Look Sammy—I'm fine here. And I can't go anywhere. So just take off for a bit."

Last thing Dean wanted was to have Sam martyring himself over him…

"Please..."

Sam relented. He really was beat.

"Fine then,-- you jerk.. I guess I'll see you around five."

"Hey!" Dean protested. Sam just waived him off with a grin, and left.


	4. Chapter 4

4

With Sam gone, Dean was left alone with his thoughts. _Weeks of inactivity_. That alone was enough to seriously depress him. But the experience with Gordon just underscored the reality that they were constantly at the mercy of _both_ worlds—the supernatural and the mundane, and lately, both seemed intent on mayhem. It was just so damn _wearying_—the need to fight, to be wary at all times.  
He let his mind wander to a different reality—one where he and Sam might have grown up carefree, oblivious to the darker aspects of living. Sam would have been a good lawyer. He could save his souls in a courtroom. --_Safely_. Then, at the end of the day, he'd go home to a beautiful wife—two point one kids, ..a dorky looking environmentally responsible car and some kind of stupid yellow dog.

He never extended the '_What If?'_ to his own life. He'd been at this so long, just couldn't picture anything else.

Wiping the blurring moisture from his tired eyes, he closed them, and that train of thought,-- and drifted off.

Sam found a half decent place good and close to the hospital. He didn't know yet how long Dean was expected to stay. At least with that knee brace on he could hardly pull off his usual escape routine. He brought in their gear and dropped the bags onto a lumpy orange chair. He debated cleaning the car seat himself, but he knew it really needed some professional attention, and he was just too damned tired anyway.  
Instead he lay on the bed, appreciating the softness after a brutal 24 hours. Even his worry for Dean couldn't keep his exhaustion at bay, and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

His watch beeped its alarm. Sam reluctantly returned to the waking world. At least with Dean away he could enjoy a good hot shower for once, instead of a lukewarm leftover. He took that opportunity, and enjoyed it –once the scrapes and bruises were done screaming their protest.

_Much better_. He still had time to get the car in, and he located an auto-detailer and headed out on his errands.

The cleaner looked the car over, raising his eyebrows and gauging Sam when he saw the pool of blood. He quoted him a price and told him it would be ready in a couple of hours. Luckily there was a greasy spoon within walking distance, and Sam was famished. He whiled away the time, losing himself in some really great soup and fish'n chips. --And lots of less-than-stellar coffee.  
He bought a paper. Might as well see what the normal world was up to. He wondered if Dean was awake, feeling a stab of guilt. He'd make it up by bringing a good fast food feast for him—that always brightened Dean's darkest mood. Checking the time, he gathered his paper and walked back to the car cleaner.

The seat was pristine again—the whole car sparkled, -and smelled pleasingly of green apple. He paid the bill and as he settled in the drivers seat, the attendant reappeared. He wore a strange smug expression. It quickly became clear as to why he was there.

"Lotta blood there, on that seat…." he said. "--kinda thing you might not want to draw attention to, eh? I mean…could be embarrassing, having to explain that to the cops…"

Sam couldn't believe it—they guy was angling for _hush-money!_ He got out of the car and stood his towering frame uncomfortably close to the jackass,--who backed up nervously.

"Listen _jerk_." he growled, "The cops _were _my escort to the hospital as I raced to keep my brother alive while he nearly bled out behind me. --I am tired and f--king stressed. Maybe you want to rethink why you're here talking to me…."  
It was uncharacteristically aggressive for Sam—it felt like he was channeling Dean—but after all the recent tension, his fuse was dangerously short.

The employee stammered, both with fear and maybe a bit of shame-

"--Sorry, man. -- uh--hope he's ok…" All the while, he was backing further away until he felt safe enough to turn and sprint back to the building.

Sam smiled without humour, shook his head and got back into the car. Humanity sure had its share of garbage. He really looked forward to seeing Dean.

He was a little late, but Sam figured the bounty he brought would earn Dean's forgiveness. Remembering that hospitals frowned on food from the outside, he slipped his contraband into his jacket—embarrassed that it looked a bit like he should be heading to the maternity ward…

It appeared that Dean was dozing. Sam pulled his usual seat close to the bedside, and slid the secreted supper under the bed..

"Dean…..hey,--Dean…" he said softly. If Dean was still deep in sleep, he didn't want to rouse him—figuring he needed it.  
Dean didn't stir.  
Sam took the opportunity to look him over, --his concern growing.  
Dean was pale, with a spot of colour over the cheekbones.. His hair was slightly damp,--a fine sheen of moisture on his throat. Putting his hand to his forehead, Sam could feel the elevated temperature. He was about to buzz the nurse when the surgeon he'd met earlier approached.

"Your brother is running a slight fever, Sam. I don't believe it is a serious concern, --it's not uncommon. I've boosted his antibiotics—which should nip anything in the bud. Unfortunately, they can be pretty hard on the system. He may feel nauseated,-drowsy.  
...I think you won't have much luck with your smuggled dinner…"

Sam, looking sheepish, -offered it instead to the doc.—who accepted it with a wink.  
It wasn't just patients who hated the available hospital cuisine.

"Don't worry, Sam. It's just a little speed-bump. He'll be fine. Alert the nurse when he comes around, ok?"

He saluted with the sack of fast food and left.  
Sam sunk back into his chair, miserable. _–just a little speed bump—_  
Was it too much to ask that his brother at least have a quick recovery? Why did _everything _have to be a battle..?  
Leaning forward, he brushed the damp hair back from Dean's brow. Normally he'd have awakened with a start. He was pretty out if it, all right. Sam resigned himself to reading some of the magazines he'd picked up.

Growing bored after a while, -(the reading material was to Dean's taste, not his)—he stepped out to retrieve his laptop from the car, --he had emails to Stamford friends that were long overdue.  
He returned, and was pleased to see Dean awake.

"…hey, Sammy"

"Hey you. Did the doc speak to you?."

Dean nodded, closing his eyes momentarily.

"Yeah," he sighed- "nothing's ever simple is it…? I feel like I need to hurl, and you probably brought me some good eats…"

"Don't worry—it's not going to waste. I gave it to your doctor. I was busted anyway, so you're not going to miss out."

Sam's worry radiated. He asked gently-

" are you seriously going to puke? Do you need help?"

"…no—think I'm ok for now. …could you pass me some water?—there's a dead mouse on my tongue."

Sam poured it and handed it over—placing it firmly in Dean's shaky hand.

"Car's cleaned. All evidence of your DNA is officially erased.. –Fresh as a daisy."

Sam knew that would cheer him up.

"…great—thanks, Sammy"

Remembering the doctor's request, Sam rang the nurse, and she bustled in, clucking over Dean.

"Still a bit hot I see. Any nausea? What about pain?"

He was shifting uncomfortably under her attentions and he flinched painfully when she leaned him forward and examined the incision. He was shivering a little. She reassured him that everything looked ok, and added another shot to the IV.  
Within minutes he began to relax again, and Sam thought _-that must be some hell of a buzz._  
She took his temp, recording it.

"Call me if you feel ill, honey" and she was gone.

"What's with the _honey_, Dean?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah—what can I say. They can't keep their hands off me. I swear I get way more sponge baths than anyone else."

He tried some water again. " So what happened out there, Sam? You obviously saved my ass. What happened with Gordon?.."

Sam relayed the story. Dean looked at him,-eyebrows raised ,-clearly impressed.

"Well --way to go, Sam. I told him that's exactly how it would play out.. Too bad you didn't actually run over the bastard, though…Would have been worth the alignment work."

Sam nodded. "well, at least he's going back. Actually he'll be in a rubber room for a while—going on about demons and everything."

"Demons? What a _freak_--" Dean laughed, and instantly regretted the motion. He stifled a yawn.  
"..sorry.--painkiller's kicking in. Now's the time to tell me any confessions-cuz I won't remember it later…"

"Nice try" laughed Sam. "Go ahead and crash—I'm happy here with my computer."

He was already out. Sam reached over and touched his forehead.. –Felt a bit cooler.

"…hands off, Nurse Ratchet…" Dean mumbled.

The next several days passed in similar fashion—minus the complication of the initial infection, which was successfully dealt with. Dean was a quick healer, and since he had the stomach of a goat, he suffered no unpleasant side effects from the antibiotics.  
Which meant it was all Sam could do to keep him adequately filled with his hospital food alternatives. His appetite for coffee alone was enough to bankrupt them..

And predictably, as Dean got stronger, he became increasingly restless.  
-- And irritable.  
He bitched and whined endlessly over his circumstance. –He argued with Sam over everything. He was bored, itchy and sore from laying in bed all day, and damned if he was gonna suffer alone.  
Finally Sam had enough.

"Dean—would you just shut the hell up??" he snapped. " Trust me-- the good people here want to see the back of _you_ as much as you want to leave. I mean—when's the last time your nurse called you _honey?_ I promise I will convince them to let you out, OK? --I'm sure it won't be a hard sell.!"  
He was sick of being here day in day out himself.

"But have you thought this through at all? You're not exactly in the position to ride around in the car all day. We can stay at the motel for a while, til we have to start doing cleaning and dishwashing detail to pay for it.  
--And if you are going to be like this for the next couple of months, I may as well put us both out of our misery right now.. --So quit being such a whiny ingrate and give me a solution here…!"

Dean knew he was being childish. He hadn't thought of much except getting the hell out. He hadn't actually put any thought as to where to go or what to do.--Or how it affected Sam.  
He did a rare thing. He apologized.

Sam decided he may as well voice the plan he had in mind.  
"Dean… I know this is not your ideal scenario—nothing about this is. But...well—what if we stayed at Ellen's for a while…?

"No"

"Why not? She's got room—I can help her with stuff around the roadhouse,--you and Ash can work on your hunting arsenal or whatever…you'll have room to move around…….and.. (he added, -playing his strongest card..) …_Jo's not there_."

Sam wasn't blind—he knew there was some sort of complicated bond between the two.  
And he knew that Dean ran screaming from those kinds of entanglements.  
"Just think about it, ok?"

It was a bit of a ruse, -giving Dean the choice. Sam had already spoken to Ellen days ago. It was all arranged—they just had to wait until Sir Dean made up his own mind to agree. After the past week—Sam could_ really_ use a buffer between himself and Dean in his current state of mind and body., and Ellen,-- god love her-- was strong, and just prickly enough to fill that role,.  
It was the best solution all around.

Dean knew it. The thought had actually crossed his mind at one point. Plus he was really looking forward to that drinking-his-face-off thing—which would make Ellen's establishment fit the bill handily. Finally,--and with a suitable show of ill-tempered reluctance, -he agreed.

Sam was right, of course,. He had very little trouble convincing hospital staff that the best place for Dean's recovery was at Ellen's. Sam obtained a strict schedule for Dean's therapy and meds, and assured the docs that he would keep his brother from rashly ditching the confining sling and brace before it was safe to do so. They didn't envy Sam—and heartily wished him good luck.

When the time came, they arranged Dean in the back of the impala, --which, -with Dean's arm strapped to his side and his leg braced straight, -was alot like trying to load an open ironing board. A crabby one. They hit the road for a long drive ahead.  
Dean fell asleep within the first half hour. He was discouraged to admit how tiring it was just getting out of the hospital bed, getting dressed—he needed Sam's help with that, which irritated him completely--, and into the car. Sam just weathered the tirade—relieved when he heard the even breathing of sleep behind him. He was used to this—had done it many times. He didn't miss the pain and exhaustion on Dean's face. He wished he wouldn't push himself so hard all the time.

Ellen's would be good,--for both of them.

It was dark when they finally reached their destination. Sam was stiff from the drive and welcomed the chance to stretch his long legs. As he turned off the ignition, Ellen and Ash came out to greet them.

"Hey Ellen,—Ash. --I really appreciate this…"

Ellen cut him off in her brusquely efficient way.  
"Never mind, Sam Winchester. This is the right decision and we're glad to have you." She hugged him, and peered into the car. "How's Sleeping Beauty?"

"He's pretty sore. The immobility is killing him." Sam sighed. "We're gonna have to watch him like hawks so he doesn't pull those things off too soon." Sam opened the door and gently roused Dean—who rewarded him with some choice epithets.

"None of that, Dean Winchester!" - admonished Ellen. "Sam is just trying to help you—now show your brother some gratitude. Or at least, be civil." She was trying not to smile.

"Yes, ma'am. " a sheepish Dean answered. "Sorry".

Sam and Ash maneuvered the patient out of the car, and supported him as they hobbled into the building. Once inside, they arranged him on a couch, and Sam returned to the car to get their things. Ash brought a beer to Dean, who could have kissed him right there.  
Ellen, who had disappeared to the kitchen, came in with steaming bowls of soup. She snatched up Dean's bottle, and replaced it with a cup of tea.—with a warning look to Ash.  
"Dean, until you are done your antibiotics—this is off limits" --pouring it down the sink.

"Aw, Ellen—you've gotta be kidding me—" Dean groaned.

"Only a few more days, Dean. I'm sure you'll survive. Us, -on the other hand….."

The tea and soup were just right, of course. He felt a lot better after they were done.

Once Sam was out of earshot, Dean turned to Ellen.

"Look Ellen—I am really sorry to put you out like this. But I think Sam would have driven us over a cliff if we had to do this out of the car, -or some crappy flea-bag. He's been really great, --and don't get me wrong—I appreciate it—but he'll mother me 'til he drops dead from exhaustion. This is best for him. Don't tell him I said that…"

"Dean—you are no burden. Get that out of your head—we are pleased to have you both." Ellen patted his arm. "But don't think we aren't going to be keeping an eye on you—you'll be following your doctors orders here, and we will see that you keep it slow." She added-."I know you—you're as stubborn as your dad, --but if you want to heal you've got to let us help you. Understood??"

He groaned his agreement

Ash laughed. "You are dead meat, buddy.."

Ellen had set up a back room for Dean—there was no way he would have been able to negotiate the stairway to the apartment. Sam was put upstairs. As Dean was on the verge of sleep already, they helped him to the room and got him relatively comfortable. Ellen had read the doctors notes, and she helped him off with his shirt and had a look at the various stitched places.

"oh,…Dean." She said softly as she looked over the long incision.

""it's ok, Ellen. --Looks worse than it feels." Actually his shoulder hurt like a bitch, but no one needed to be privy to that.  
She changed the dressing and dispensed his allotted meds. She wasn't fooled by his bravado--she thought he looked pale and tired.  
But then—so did Sam, for that matter.

"Now—you will NOT attempt to get up and wander around by yourself—is that clear?"  
He promised—thinking he was planning to sleep for a day or two at least.  
She took away his crutches anyway—not that they were of much use as yet.  
"Nite Dean. -- If you need anything…"

"I'm good. --Goodnight Ellen. --Thanks"

Once Dean was settled, Ellen brought a brandy for Sam and they sat down in some old comfortable chairs and talked. Sam had given her a quick briefing over the phone earlier, but now he described the incident in detail. Everything from their being led into a trap by Gordon, to his hunting of them in the forest—Dean's terrible ordeal—it all flooded out. By the end he was in tears—finally shedding some of the immense weight of stress that he'd been struggling under. She hugged him, soothing him to calm--motioning Ash to refill the brandy glass.

"You poor thing. What a horrible experience—for both of you.. But you can certainly be proud that Dean wouldn't be here today, --vexing us,-if it hadn't been for your efforts. You're a good brother."

Sam collected himself and sighed.

" …I wish it was all different, Ellen.—I'm just so damned tired of this. I just want a peaceful, normal life.  
And Dean will always, _always_- throw himself under the bus for me. It's really hard to live with that. I'm terrified that someday his luck will run out….."

"Shhh, honey. No one knows what the future will bring."  
It was true. She wanted to be more comforting, but she wasn't qualified to give him the reassurance he needed. She'd seen her own world torn apart by the same forces that drove theirs.

" Now Sam. We're here, with you --in all of this. We will all do our best to make your brother's life miserable together, ok? " She smiled. "Now let's all pack it in. Tomorrow we'll draw straws as to who gets first watch. --Our Dean is going to be a trial"  
There was a collective rolling of eyes, and laughing, they headed to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

_._  
5

The next days passed in relative peace. Ellen's no-nonsense manner kept Dean civil and fairly inactive. He cloistered himself in the room most of the day—not wanting to be a spectacle in the roadhouse, and having to explain the story repeatedly to curious patrons.  
Ash set him up with a television, so his days consisted pretty much of sleep, meals and watching the tube. He had lengthy conversations with Ellen—she had a rare and valuable perspective on things, -her life experiences parallel in so many ways to their own.  
And Sam was a great help to Ellen, and she insisted on feeding him to bursting,--he was already feeling a lot better than he had in some time.

Dean had, by this time, snipped and pulled most of the forty-odd stitches he bore, -with the exception of those on the back of his shoulder-which were tended to by Sam. This was nothing new:—considering their own fugitive status, they had to limit their contact with public institutions. Both he and Sam were proficient at stitching and treating their own injuries. Ellen checked it all over and pronounced them healing nicely.

The brace and sling were another matter. Dean whined and argued to no avail—Sam and Ellen steadfastly thwarted his attempts to remove them too early.

Until the Thursday morning….

Dean was in his room, with Ash as his company—flipping lazily through the channels. He was only partially paying attention to the stations as they changed, --and he fiddled absent-mindedly with the pendant around his neck.—when suddenly a snippet of news caught his attention.

"—Whoa—whoa—go back a couple-- to the news-" he barked to Ash.

He did so and they listened intently to the report.

Police—warning the public . _–Escaped murderer –considered armed, dangerous.—Mentally unstable.-_

It was Gordon Walker.

They sat in stunned silence for a moment.

_"--Son--of—a—Bitch!_ --What the hell does it take to keep that bastard penned?!--" raged Dean. "He's a freaking Houdini!"

Ash had, in the meantime, fetched Sam, and Ellen followed.

"What's going on? asked Sam, drying his hands with a dish towel.

"Gordon's loose!--Again!" Dean said, the sharp edge of frustration in his voice.

"What--?? Since when??" demanded Sam.  
Ellen echoed the question., -incredulous.

"Yesterday. Apparently 'he overpowered his guards' while he was at some psych-hospital evaluation." Dean swore.  
"-- This changes everything Ellen. --Sam and I—we can't stay here—he's gonna come gunning for us. It'll put everyone here in danger--"

Ellen didn't let him finish. "Dean,--it changes _nothing_. He will come regardless of whether you're here or not. It is my decision to have you here—it's the safest place. And now we have warning, so we can prepare. I don't want to hear another word about leaving.—for god's sake-you can't even move off that bed without help!—"

"I won't put another family in danger!" Dean argued , - his mind a whirlwind of anger, frustration and fear. His expression was thunderous.

Sam added "Ellen—he's right—we can't—"

"Enough!!"

She was furious. "I am neither helpless nor weak, --and it is MY decision as to what risks I take,—do you hear me??"

Clearly her mind was set. --And Ellen was a force to be reckoned with.  
Dean ran his hands over his face and through his hair, swearing a mantra to himself.  
Sam stood in silence. Ash simply looked bemused.

This was going to get _ugly_.

Dean knew he had to gain mobility fast. At least with the hinged brace he could use the crutches,--whether he bore weight on the knee or not. But it meant the sling had to go as well. Not an ideal situation, but reality rarely is.

Ellen was calmer now, but looking grim-

"I'm going to make us some lunch. I'll be back here with it in fifteen minutes. You boys start thinking of how we can pre-empt Gordon's strike. We can discuss this more when I return."

Dean sighed bitterly. He really didn't feel ready for this.  
"Damn it! -- Sam—I have to ditch these things _now_" he said—motioning to the brace. "I can't be dead weight like this. Help me get these off."

Sam knew he was right, and although it could harm his recovery—Dean had to be able to move.  
He helped his brother undo the various fasteners, and slid the brace out from under his leg, then did the same for the arm restraint. Dean, despite the circumstance—was greatly relieved to be free of the itchy confinement.  
-- At least he could thank the bastard for _that_.

"Don't bend it yet!" barked Sam. He retrieved the secondary brace—much slimmer, and flexible-and velcroed it in place. Dean tried a little movement, and winced. It hurt—felt like the joint was full of gravel. He guessed he probably couldn't stand on it yet.

He gingerly rotated his shoulder, --successfully hiding the deep, alarming pain from Sam. He figured it would fade with more use, but it would probably be a long time before it felt normal again. When he stopped moving it the pain settled to a dull ache.

"You guys start planning. I've _gotta_ go take a shower."

Sam, worried—rose to help him and said- "You're sure you're ok?"

"yeah, yeah, --you don't have to hover over me.—I'm fine. --Unless you hear a thump and a yell."  
He hobbled off, using the wall as support. Sam had to let him do it himself.

Ellen met him half way. Putting down her tray, she looked at him disapprovingly, but said nothing. Instead, she hooked his arm over her shoulder and helped him to the washroom.

"You're taking your life in your hands, lady." he warned. "I _stink_." .

Ellen rolled her eyes. "I'll hold my breath…"

"Your funeral—"

Dean thought it was the best damn shower experience he'd ever had.. Almost better than--well, -it was very good—leave it at that…  
The heat and massage of the water soothed his shoulder and knee immensely,--despite the fact that all the wounded places, extra sensitive to the heat—stung mercilessly. He didn't realize how long he'd been in there until Sam knocked,-concerned that he was in trouble.

Embarrassed, -he dried off, dressed clumsily, and struggled back to his room, where the others were into the lunch Ellen promised.

"Here, prune-boy—eat something—" Sam pushed the tray towards him. "How is the brace working out?"

Dean chose a mountainous ham sandwich, answering through a mouthful.

" Won't be putting any weight on it yet. The crutches will work, though."

_Smart man_—thought Sam. _Take it slow._

He noted that Dean was holding his right arm against his side. "Maybe you should wear a light sling when you can—just a cloth temporary one. --Something you can get out of fast, …if you have to….."

"Yeah—maybe. " he said, noncommittally. Actually Dean thought that was a _really _good idea—as the ache in his shoulder and chest was starting to become distracting.  
"So I assume you all came up with something brilliant to fry the sonofabitch while I was in the can.."

"Who can think when Ellen puts a feast like this if front of your face?" said Sam.

Actually Ellen hadn't stopped thinking about the situation.

" For starters—we have to take turns on watch. Any vehicle, if he can get one, will be obvious,--so it's the Gordon-on-foot we need to worry about. There's not much he can sneak around behind in this dust-bowl, but there's a few places. And we don't know how he'll be armed—so we won't know his range. I'm not sure yet if I will just shut this place down until its over, or if I should consider the safety-in-numbers route. Don't want to put other people at risk…but I can't stay closed for weeks, waiting—either.

"We can't make this common knowledge, it's a risk to Sam. Otherwise the extra guns would be a good thing…" Dean mused.

" Shit, Ellen. I didn't even think of the impact this could have on your livelihood…"

Ellen assured them-

"Nobody will starve if we close for the weekend,--to start with. Maybe that's best. No patrons—no cars to hide behind. No open door,-less chance he can just walk in here. Let's keep this as simple and uncluttered as possible."

"Ellen--" warned Sam- "there's a very good chance he'll try to burn us out if it doesn't go his way…."

"I know." she said.

"While this place may not be much to look at,--it is pretty valuable in terms of insurance. Jo and I would make out like bandits if that should happen.. The thought has crossed my mind more than once…" she laughed, wryly. They all knew the truth of it, though. This was her home,--her life.

" Well," said Dean with finality- "We won't let it get that far. Sam—we need to get everything out of the trunk. We've got a lot of useful firepower there. What have _you_ got, Ellen?"

"Everything my husband had is still here. And we all know how to use it."

"Good" said Dean. " Well, at least we aren't dealing with some unknown here. No mystery spirit or demon freak. Just your average run-of-the-mill pissed-off psycho hunter with a grudge. Nothing we can do except watch and wait."

"I can rig up some sort of perimeter alarm system—trip wire sort of thing…." ventured Ash.

"If anyone can do something like that, Ash—I know you can. But seriously—I think with Gordon being an experienced hunter—he's going to be looking for stuff like that. And we may not have the time to do it."

Conversation suddenly came to an abrupt halt. They all heard it. A sound—a familiar deep, rumble—

_The Impala--!_


	6. Chapter 6

6

Sam and Ash rushed to the window of the roadhouse just in time to see the car squeal away in a fury of dust, fleeing away at high speed—

"STAY DOWN!!" both Dean and Ellen yelled in unison.

"Did you see him??—Was it him?!" demanded Dean--

"Yeah!" Sam swore.

"F—K!! Dean raged- "I can't believe that sonofabitch got the car while we're just sitting here yapping—" He pounded his fist against the wall beside him—instantly feeling the impact jolt through his chest and shoulder.  
This was too much, too soon. --Dean was shaking with fury. "--Was it even locked?!"

" _Yeah_ it was locked!! I'm not an _idiot!_ " retorted Sam. "--Keys are right here!" He threw the useless set across the room.

Ellen got a grip on the situation, "Everybody settle down! Let's figure this out. At least we know its started—we don't have to wait and wonder.  
Ok--so the car is gone—which means we have less to defend ourselves with, --and _he_ is now armed to the teeth. So from now on—no one goes near a window, steps outside or does anything with out checking. Ash—could you go make sure every door and window is locked? --And get a _closed_ sign up—"

He nodded and went to it.  
Ellen continued -" Sam--here's the key to the gun cabinet upstairs in my closet. Empty it and bring everything down."

He took the key and headed up the stairs.

"And Dean—"  
Dean sat on the edge of the bed,--hunched over. He was holding his right arm to his side with his left. He was white-faced with anger, and his shoulder was screaming. He turned and looked at her with an expression of hopeless frustration.

"Don't you give up on us yet, Dean Winchester—!" Ellen ordered. " We need you strong. Those two boys out there are counting on you to be their leader,--so shake this off!"

Dean ran his trembling hand through his hair—trying to calm down.  
"I know, -I _know,_ Ellen--I'm ok—I'm just--just a bit sore. And my _car_,--damn it--!"  
He sighed and straightened up. "I am gonna need that sling—would you mind--?"

" I'll get something for it." she said, adding- "--Dean-how mobile do you think you can be?"

"Not sure—have to try the crutches. -- I tell you--I could use a shot of bourbon or something—"

"Coming up. Think I'll join you. I'll find something to use for your arm" and she left for a moment.

Dean wearily pulled on his boots, and hauled himself up--reaching for the crutches. He adjusted them to his height and tried a few steps with them, careful to keep his right foot off the floor. The movement enraged his shoulder further, --it felt like every time his muscles moved, something pulled oddly—painfully. It just didn't feel _right_—but this was a new experience for him—he didn't know how 'right' metal and screws were supposed to feel. And it felt like someone was poking iside his chest with a burning stick.  
He set his jaw and vowed to ignore it. Didn't have much choice….

Ellen was relieved to see him up and able to get around. She safety-pinned a wide band of folded fabric into a support and slipped it over Dean's head. It would support his arm but not be a hindrance to any quick movement.  
Tiring, he sat down and she handed him a generous glass.

She watched him. He was pale-his features taut—and she wondered how much of that was stress, and how much was pain. They silently cheered each other and both downed their drinks.

Ash confirmed that everything was secure. Sam was struggling down the stairs with his heavy load of arms. He dropped the collection onto the bed, and Dean did a mental inventory. He was glad Ellen's late spouse was a hunter—he had ten times the arsenal that any average joe might have had hidden away in a closet. It's not that Gordon was some sort of Rambo—they just needed to have each of them adequately armed and guarding the four directions.

Ellen poured another shot, and a few more for the other two.

"Have we picked our spots?" Sam asked. He sipped the bourbon out of politeness—tasted like some banned industrial solvent to him…..

"We need two on opposite sides of the house upstairs, and two at the other sides down here. Are we all confident shots?" Dean asked.

"Hell no-" said Ash. "I'm all beauty and brains. I know how to load one, -and shoot,- but I can't guarantee I'll hit anything near my target…

Dean knew Sam was reasonably accurate, and Ellen was, like himself,-a crack shot. Figuring that anyone on the top floor had a better view, Dean put the two lesser talents there—both with binoculars, thanks to Ellen--at least they could have the benefit of spotting Gordon early. He and Ellen were more useful downstairs—if Gordon managed to get close, they would need the accuracy..

Ellen quickly took the opportunity to put some fruit, cheese, chips and drinks where everyone was to be stationed. She dragged a padded chair over to Dean's position, -which he reluctantly made use of--parking himself on the chair's rolled arm. His knee had started to swell --adding to his grim mood.

She looked at him—assessing—and he saw it.

"I'm fine—" he growled.

"Don't lie to me. You need a painkiller."

He refused—not wanting to dull his senses in any way.

"I'll get you regular Tylenol then-- it'll help some."

He nodded curtly. _Fusspots._

The afternoon dragged on. This was torture—the waiting game. Gordon wasn't stupid—he knew the wait would drive them all crazy. Especially Dean., who was swaying with exhaustion. He'd spent the last couple of weeks pretty much horizontal –he wasn't ready at all for this sudden shift to active duty. The intensity of watching—the concentration—was draining him, --it gave him a wicked headache..

The sound of the occasional fly buzzing in its death throes on the fly strip was mesmerizing.  
He needed a coffee desperately.

Afternoon gave way to evening, and by then, no one was sharp anymore. It was decided that Sam would take Ellen's spot, leaving Ash to keep his watch upstairs. Ellen was now free to put together something to feed them all, and she wisely brewed some brutally strong coffee.

Cars were beginning to stop out front, only to turn away again after reading the closed sign. A few people—not very bright, or just more desperate than the rest—knocked on the door, but Ellen ignored them, and they too went off eventually. This would be the pattern until closing time.  
Dean was growing concerned about the distraction. It provided too much opportunity for Gordon to slip closer.

Ellen brought each of them their meal, --Dean last.

"Sit in the chair for a minute while you eat." she ordered.  
He slumped into it—relieved. A deep ache had taken up residence somewhere halfway between his chest and back., and he knew he wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer.  
But the coffee would really help. He was suffering from caffeine withdrawal.

Ellen handed him a huge steaming mug, and he reached to take it from her hand. _Perfect._  
But he never got the chance to enjoy it—

_--CRASH-- _

The window in front of them exploded inward in a hail of glass, and along with it,-the mug of coffee, --showering both of them with hot liquid and shards of porcelain.

"DOWN!" yelled Dean, but Ellen was a step ahead already. Dean threw himself to the floor --frantically wiping coffee out of his eyes and fragments of mug from his face and neck  
He whipped around to see that Ellen was unhurt—glad that she already had her rifle in her hand and had pressed herself against the wall beside the window. _She knew what she was doing_…The two from upstairs came bounding down—an experienced Sam making sure that Ash stayed back out of range of the shooter..  
Sam immediately assessed that Ellen was ok—Dean was still on the floor but he gave the sign that he wasn't hurt either.

They nearly jumped out of their skins when the phone rang. It was mounted on the wall near Ellen, -- Dean motioned to her to answer it.

It was Gordon, of course.

Dean couldn't hear the whole exchange but he heard her tell him to go to hell and hang up in fury.

"--Wants me to give you two up to him—says it's not my fight! Stupid bastard—that was my _favourite _mug--!" she spat.  
Dean made a mental note _never_ to cross this woman…

"What do we do??" Sam asked anxiously.

"Stay down. Just listen for him—" Dean hissed.  
He held a heavy .44 tightly in his left hand. When the window was shot out, he had landed hard on the floor—and a sharp pain now shot down his arm from his injured shoulder to his finger-tips….--he didn't think he could hold the gun with his right.

They heard laughter outside. Somewhere out in the darkened yard. --Hard to say how close.

Once again the phone rang. This time Dean dragged himself over and grabbed it.

"Gordon—" he said tersely..

_"Dean--?"_

"Yeah, that's right. Seems you missed last time. This time too.. That's 0 for 2, buddy-- maybe we're _all_ getting rusty…"  
Dean tried to temper his anger-  
"C'mon,-think about this, Gordon. You got yourself free. That's a priceless thing--man, don't throw that away--why don't you just keep going? --This is your only chance to stay out of the pen—"

Gordon replied, but the others couldn't hear it.

"Why do you care so much about this?! Don't be a f—king idiot! Just go and disappear--Leave these people alone!--"

Again, Gordon's words infuriated Dean –

"Forget it! You're not getting Sam. --See you in _hell _first!"  
With that, Dean yanked the receiver cord out of the base.

Still sitting on the floor, he leaned with his back against the wall.  
He was just about spent—and he closed his eyes for a moment, and slipped his hand back through the sling. The others waited expectantly…

"--Gordon says _Hi."_ he said.

"…You all right, Dean--?" asked Sam.

He opened his eyes. "_Yeah,_ Sam. I'm fine. -- Just tired.."

Sam watched his brother intently. It was clear to him that Dean couldn't stand much more. He was too weak to weather this kind of strain, -- he still needed weeks of recovery.  
-And Ellen and Ash—they were in grave peril because of him.  
Gordon had all the advantage—he could pick them off one by one at his leisure while they waited to be slaughtered.  
Sam couldn't stand the idea that these good people would get hurt--or worse.  
-And he couldn't stomach the certainty that Dean would sacrifice himself again.

He made up his mind.

Gordon was yelling something outside—they all turned their attention toward the direction from which it came.

Sam took the opportunity. He silently stepped back until he was at the door.—Slid the latch back—turned the knob carefully--

And was gone.

Dean whipped his head around, instantly recognizing the significance of that soft _click_.

_Sam—outside.--!_

They all stared at each other—shocked--.

Dean groaned, and dropped his head into his hands. _Stupid --stupid –stupid!--_

He wanted to yell to Sam—force him return to the safety of the building—but that would just alert Gordon to his chance. He wished he could run outside and grab him, drag him back in—smack him in the head--but he was barely in any shape to get up ,--let alone chase him. He couldn't let either of the others go after him,--the risk was too great..  
--He didn't know _what _the hell to do--

Ellen saw his helpless, conflicted state,-- and moved over to him—putting her hand on his shoulder.  
He rebuffed it—he was so close to tears, -and her sympathetic touch threatened to push him over the edge. He breathed slowly—teeth and hands clenched——fighting his emotions.

Sam's voice outside in the yard snapped him out of it.

He was calling Gordon out.  
_(don't do it sammy) _

They heard him tell Gordon to leave the others alone and he'd show himself.  
_(stay down, sammy)_

They heard Gordon agree.  
_(Christ!)_

Dean struggled to his feet—desperate to see out the broken window. The others crept forward to listen. Ash slipped an arm around Dean, --who was shaking with the effort—helping him to remain standing.  
They were helpless—all they could do was bear witness to it now.

There was more conversation—muffled—distant—

And then the unmistakable sound of shots fired.

Dean lost it.—  
--

--He struggled free of Ash and hauled himself up onto the window ledge. He would have been over in a second had Ellen not grabbed him by the shirt and prevented his suicidal rush out into the darkness. --_One sacrificial lamb was enough…_  
He whirled around in a blind fury, -but she wrapped her arms tightly around him, -pinning his own, whispering to him- until she felt the fight go out of him, and he went slack and started to drop. She lowered him to the floor as he passed out..

-She knew he had been running on adrenalin alone—but ultimately even that was spent, and now he lay unconscious on the floor beside her.  
Her eyes blurring with tears— she began to pick the shards of window glass out of his bloodied hands..  
Ash sat down on the floor beside him,-- stricken,--incapable of speech.

This wasn't _right—_that was just a _man_ out there, and the brothers had battled so much worse. It was supposed to end so differently. …  
…He was so _sure_ they would win…..

In a daze—Ash got up and left the room, returning with a first aid box.  
Ellen took it in silence, opened it and removed a length of gauze,--and carefully wrapped it around each of Dean's hands, leaving his fingers free Then she took one of the throw cushions from a chair, lifted his head gently, and slipped it under.  
He actually looked peaceful, she thought.

She was not a woman who wept easily but the bitter irony of that was enough.

--


	7. Chapter 7

7

The knob turned on the door that Sam had unlocked.--Ash turned his eyes toward it –  
It flung open--

And _Gordon _stepped in.

Ellen looked up, blinked her eyes clear, --and then flew at him –

"DON'T." he barked at her—raising his gun and pointing it in her direction. She stopped, but Ash knew her mind, and he moved swiftly and stepped between them—begging her to stay back..

"—You miserable, evil bastard--!" she howled at him.. "You got what you came for, aren't you satisfied yet?? LEAVE US ALONE!"  
Ash held her back—wishing he had the strength of a Winchester at that moment.

"I have no issue with _you_, Ellen" -Gordon said,--dismissing her tirade. "You're a lousy judge of character—but I won't hold that against you.  
But Dean and I—we still have some things to work out--" he added, advancing toward the figure lying on the floor.

"You've done enough to him--Get Out!! Ellen wrestled free of Ash and stood protectively in front of Dean.  
Ash, too, found his voice- "C'mon man--don't do this--"  
Gordon waved his gun threateningly. "Shut up, both of you. You don't know anything about this. Get the hell out of my way—"

He shoved Ellen hard and stood over Dean.

"_GET UP_, Winchester.!"

Dean stirred, but Gordon had no patience, -and delivered a sharp kick to his sore shoulder—which brought him around with brutal speed.  
He clutched his arm and groaned, and rolling over, he tried to get up onto his hands and knees.  
But not fast enough for his tormentor,--who kicked him viciously again in the ribs, sending him sprawling.  
Panting, Dean tried once more to get up—shaking his head to clear his foggy brain--

"_STOP_ IT--!" Ellen screamed, hysterical.

"I said GET THE F—K UP!" Gordon shouted.

Dean glared at him with raw hatred, --finding the arm of the chair, and hauling himself to his knees. He willed the room to stop spinning--.

"You--you sonofabitch—" he panted –"I _swear _I'll tear you apart for this--"

Gordon hauled off and struck him hard with the butt of his gun, causing blood to well up from his brow. Wiping red from his eye, Dean kept his grip on the chair and remained upright, swaying on his knees.

Ash struggled to keep Ellen from throwing herself in between them--some maternal instinct made her a lioness—it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

Dean raised his head and stared at his adversary. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he clung to the chair tightly to steady himself.

"—Where --is--Sam--?!" he growled through gritted teeth..

Ellen buried her face against Ash—

" I told you Dean. I came to kill your brother, -- and I did—" Gordon taunted…  
"I blew him away while he begged for _your _life.-- It was damn touching.  
But you oughta worry about yourself right now, because you know, --you were right—. I _was _sloppy before, --but I'm here to fix that now.  
Seeya Dean…."

Gordon raised his gun…..leveling it at Dean's chest--his finger curving tighter on the trigger--  
But instantly his _own_ shirt exploded in a crimson stain, --throwing him backwards, --leaving him sprawled on the floor in front of the shocked group.--!  
For a moment he looked up at the window with disbelief—incredulous--

And then his gaze fixed blandly, and he saw nothing more.

Everything;--sight, -sound;--blurred into blackness, and Dean slumped to his hands, and the floor rushed up to meet him. Ellen and Ash stood transfixed, staring at the open window.

A bloodied figure leaned there, panting--his hand, still clutching his gun, now dropping to his side. Then he slid from their view.

_Sam._

Ash snapped to his senses, and rushing outside, he guided the wounded figure to his feet, helping him stumble in out of the chilly darkness... Ellen glanced quickly at Dean, --laid out on the floor --then she rushed to Sam, helping Ash deposit him onto the couch.  
Sam still hadn't spoken--his face was contorted with pain. She hastily examined him for injuries—his shirt was a sodden red. She pushed it up and found the source—a streaming bullet wound low in his side, and she pressed the cloth hard against it to staunch the blood-flow, eliciting a sharp yelp of protest.  
Ash scrambled to retrieve the medical kit.

"--Dean—?" Sam questioned hoarsely, --out of breath, and struggling to sit up so he could see his brother's still form.

"Alive, thanks to you—" Ellen said, eyes shining. "Ash will tend to him-.—now be still!"  
She quickly dressed his injury while Ash called 911 on his cell. Sam was writhing with the pain, --it radiated through his side. He tried to breath as shallowly as he could, but he was still winded from his furious sprint back through the dust and brush to the roadhouse.  
He managed to remain alert, though –and it was beginning to dawn on him—that this particularly nasty episode in their lives was _over_.

Gordon was dead.  
--And unless he figured out how to vault the gates of hell, he wasn't coming back this time.

Ellen finished firmly taping a wad of bandage to his side, then wound a length of gauze tightly round his midriff.

"My god, Sam--we heard the shooting--we were so sure you were--I mean, Gordon said--"

"When has Gordon gotten _anything_ right lately?" Sam asked, with a weak smile.

"Oh Sam—your brother--" Fresh tears spilled down her face, and she looked over at where Dean lay—"Gordon told him you were dead--he'll be beside himself—"

Sam smiled, closing his eyes.

Ash reported that help was coming, and he bent down and gently rolled Dean over onto his back. He was solidly unconscious, the side of his face smeared red. Ellen fetched a couple of blankets, arranging one over each of her wounded charges. She sent Ash for brandy, and carefully wiped the blood from Dean's face, checking him over to be sure that there was nothing more urgent than bruising where Gordon had kicked him.  
She was all efficiency again, --having gained both Winchesters back, she was not about to let god or the devil claim either one of them again while they were in her care!

Neither brother would remember anything involving an ambulance. Ellen filled out the forms, choosing a set of names from their collection that was different from the last time.. County General treated their injuries, and they both awakened hours later in unfamiliar surroundings.

Sam awoke to the haggard but smiling face of Ellen.

" Welcome back.-- how do you feel, Sam--?" she asked gently.

"Ok--" he said, groggily ."I'll live.. I _think_.."  
Then, as his mind cleared, he asked, anxiously..  
"--Where's Dean—is he ok? " .

Ellen sighed.  
"_Poor _Dean.,--_Oh, no--_don't panic, Sam—" she added—seeing his instantly stricken expression. "He's going to be fine, but unfortunately, both his knee and shoulder were hurt by the events last night—and since he had removed the original sling etc. too early—the good doctors decided that it would be wise to encase him in _plaster_ this time…"  
Her eyes twinkled, and she was obviously trying hard not to smirk…

"—Oh no—Ellen, -please tell me you're kidding! --Shit—he's gonna be miserable. We'll _ALL_ be miserable--" -Sam groaned.  
"But other than that—he's ok?"

"Yes—I mean, they had him in surgery again—so he's back to square one--and _you_ lost a fair bit of blood--but your doctors assure us you'll both be fine.  
--Now rest, Sam. You'll be mobile long before he will, so when you feel up to it you can go see him. He's in 214. I know he's anxious to see you."

"—thanks, Ellen." Sam rested back against the crisp pillow—feeling exhaustion claim him..

She brushed his hair back, her expression unfathomable.

"As soon as they allow it, you and Dean will be coming back to our place, of course. With Jo gone-I'm still feeling a bit empty nest-ish, so I'm looking forward to it.—_again_. But this time we'll actually relax and get better, ok? --No more visits from old _friends_..!  
--I'll check in on you later."  
And she headed out.

Ash was keeping Dean company, informing him that he considered it his personal mission to get Dean as loaded as humanly possible the moment he arrived back at the roadhouse.  
Dean thought that was a _very _noble cause. He fervently wished he could get that process underway right now, because he was _acutely_ aware of his latest surgery, and he wanted to turf his well-intentioned visitor and sleep.

He was also anxious to talk to Sam.  
He was still reeling from the emotional roller coaster ride he'd taken--despair when he thought Sam had been killed, --then elation at finding out it wasn't so. It was rough on the system.  
He didn't know what tact to take yet. He still had to sort out his own complicated emotions regarding Sam's sacrificial act.  
He was torn between dreading, needing, -to thank him for his selfless bravery, --yet wanting to beat the living _crap_ out of him for putting himself in that kind of danger….

He figured he'd better take the high road this time--with the cast on his upper body and leg—he was pretty physically limited.  
He was _almost_ relieved that they had put him in plaster. —It was torturously confining --but at least it took the temptation away this time.—as Dean had once again been made painfully aware that when left to his own devices—he usually made choices that he would regret later.

They had scoped his knee again—removing loose bits of cartilage dislodged by his premature weight bearing on it... And the shoulder—well, it was a _mess_. Part of scapula—so recently screwed back together, had been torn loose from the plate by the muscle,- because the fracture hadn't yet knitted sufficiently to withstand the pull. Which explained that deep, persistent ache.  
More surgery was required to set it all right again.  
_Humpty Dumpty, stapled back together one more time... _

Ellen checked in on him, sending Ash scurrying and assuring him that Sam was well on his way to recovery.  
He was relieved to know that. He had passed out after Gordon was shot —so the details immediately after were lost to him.  
But he'd been told that Sam had been injured, and that he had feigned death, allowing Gordon to think that he had achieved his goal.. And that he had followed the bastard back to the roadhouse, despite his wounding—just in time to deliver Dean again from the completion of Gordon's revenge.

Dean was not at all comfortable with the idea that the tables were turned yet again,--he felt it was supposed to be his role, not Sam's—to be the selfless protector, and he hated feeling indebted to anyone.

Ellen sat with him for a moment.  
Watching him struggling without success to find a comfortable position in his awkward cast made her regret her earlier mirth.  
It was called a "spica" cast, she was told, and it went over his right shoulder, around his chest and encased his right arm, -freezing it in a forward extended, elbow-bent position. It was about as awkward as it could get. They'd have to strap him to the roof to get him home…..

" Poor you" she said. " Is it hurting ?"

Dean rubbed his eyes and sighed—"Ellen—I couldn't begin to describe it.."

She was one who always got a straight answer from him--he didn't need subterfuge with her—perhaps because she was one of the few he felt he didn't need to protect.  
He closed his eyes and groaned-

"How 'bout we just get them to sedate me for the next three weeks--?"

She smiled, and patted his cheek  
—"You'll get through it…..I realize that sounds trite, but when you come home to our place we'll all be there to help make the time pass quickly.  
--You'll probably be miserable and make our lives hell, but you can beg our forgiveness when you're better. At least you know you have another chance to heal properly this time.  
--We'll put up with you, no matter how long it takes…"

"--thanks Ellen. --again." His eyes were drooping.

"Shhhh. --enough of that. --Rest now—I'll come and see you later. Sam's anxious to see you too, as soon as they'll let him get up."

"….good…" he smiled—drifting off.


	8. Chapter 8

8

Sam felt a lot better, having slept soundly for hours. He looked down at the few stitches in his side, thinking he didn't get much to show for his experience.  
Dean would say, _-not even a decent scar to impress chicks. _He was starting to feel hungry, and he wondered if his brother was awake, --how he was feeling.  
He felt stir-crazy just lying in bed, and he sympathized with Dean's plight, trapped as he was in his plaster cocoon. If it weren't for the damned IV he'd have gotten up and checked in on him.

His mind turned again to the whole Gordon episode.

Why had he been so _obsessed_ with hunting him?? His pursuit of Dean—well, that was just plain revenge –not forgivable, but understandable.  
But why Sam?? No one understood the significance of his special abilities yet. The fact that this demon had an interest in him and others like him didn't mean he was an active part of something evil. At least that was what Dean steadfastly believed.  
It's like the slab of cake that was coveted by a dieter—it wasn't evil. It was just cake. It was the dieter who gave it the capacity for harm. …

He wondered how quickly other hunters would might draw the same conclusion as Gordon. –condemn him as something to be stopped and killed.  
Gordon made it his mission simply because he was convinced Sam had the _potential_ for evil. He hadn't actually _done _evil. That wasn't a fine line—it was a gaping canyon. He wondered--how many others who found themselves in the crosshairs of hunters didn't deserve to be there?

He had shot another human being dead. He didn't feel any great pangs of guilt, --he didn't ask for this fight, and it was self defense,--but he felt-?--well, he didn't know what he felt.  
The whole hunting concept was beginning to feel like they were playing god, and maybe they didn't have the _right…._

Dean would never accept that. He may grudgingly allow some exceptions to the rule, but he was wholly sold on the _righteousness _of the job. And Sam did have to agree, there were a lot of truly evil _things _out there;-- creatures, spirits, demons,-- that needed no equivocation. But the unfortunate _people_ who were driven to do evil by some other force beyond their choice and control—how can they be categorized in the same way.?  
And hell, if anyone could be condemned for a potential for evil—then you may as well damn humanity in its entirety.

The train of thought was just too heavy, too huge, for Sam to deal with at the moment. It was dizzying. He filed the argument away for later philosophical struggle.  
Dean would have made the better lawyer. He was black and white. Sam was drowning in greys.

Too tired for this particular moral battle, he closed his eyes and chose to sleep.

Dean awoke alone. His visitors had left several hours ago, Ellen promising to return this evening.  
His newest incision was throbbing sharply, and he was annoyed by the ache in his side where Gordon had so kindly booted him. But pride (and a healthy measure of fear) wouldn't let him call for the current attending nurse. --His charm had no effect on that dour woman at all.  
He looked up at the ceiling tiles, tired of counting them—then down at his ridiculous cast, frowning. _--Way to go, Winchester. This is MUCH better than the sling_—he thought.

Thirsty—he tried to reach the pitcher of ice water on his left, but only managed to knock the cup off the tray. The TV wasn't hooked up. --Nothing to read.

He felt too hot—the cast made him claustrophobic, and his unsettled state was making him paranoid that they would be found out,-their real identities discovered.  
Then he'd be recuperating in a jail cell.

Try as he might, he couldn't break out of the negative cycle of thought, and he was starting to feel a little panicky. He sure wished the nurse would come by with that magic needle……

He worried about Sam.  
This was Sam's first experience with a bullet wound. Not exactly something you get used to, but Dean had been through it a few times. He hoped Sam didn't have nightmares about _this _now.

Sighing, he closed his eyes.--willing the restless squirrel in his chest to quit squirming and tap-dance at a normal speed.

A squeaky rattle caught his attention, and he looked up to see Sam shuffle into the room, IV stand in tow.

"Hey Sam—" he said—mood instantly brighter. "You allowed to be up?"

"I don't know—didn't stop to ask.." Sam grinned. He was still wearing his polka dotted hospital gown. He pulled a chair over to Dean's bed and carefully lowered himself into it with a grimace.

"Dude—I hope you at least threw on some boxers—" said Dean, pretending to shield his eyes. He pushed the bed control to raise himself up to a higher position. "seriously—are you ok--?"

"Yeah, Dean—I'm ok.--don't worry, just a knick. Better than _you,_ I think. How long do you have to be in _that??"_

Dean rolled his eyes. "Three weeks. --Then, if I behave myself I get the sling back.  
--Smack me in the head next time I whine about something, will you? -gotta be careful what you wish for…"

"You'd end up with a concussion from all the smacking. What'd you do to your hands?"

Dean looked at them, puzzled by the bandages. " I don't know. Can't remember. They're full of cuts. I'll have to ask Ellen later. --Are you sure you're ok to be here, Sam? --Aren't you freezing? And that's a little more than a "knick" you've got there--let me see it-"

Sam lifted his gown and showed him his wound.

"Geez, Sam—can't even impress women with that little scratch."

Sam laughed, wincing. "I _knew _you'd say that!" He reached over and stole the blanket off the other bed and draped it over himself. "There. --now I'm good."

Dean brought the subject up…

"--So—Gordon's finally finished. …Uh—thanks, …for that- by the way." Dean said, scratching his head uncomfortably..  
" I _was _gonna kick your ass for running out like that—but I figure it'll have to wait 'til later. --So pencil me in for three weeks from now…"  
His expression softened, and he asked gently—

" Are you ok with the shooting thing Sam? It a hard thing to see yourself do, I know…."

Sam thought for a moment.

" Yeah,… I'm ok. It wasn't a hate thing--just self defense. --Defense of you, and the others. I can live with that.  
Cops will be asking questions, though. —it was plausible last time—that it could have been a random thing. But this time it's obvious that he came for us. We're going to have to explain that…."

Dean grunted. " Yeah--I was starting to get a little freaked out about being stuck in here. Wonder how soon we can leave…?"

He was interrupted by the arrival of the nurse. She frowned at Sam, and monitored Dean's levels—checking her watch and injecting the IV with a scheduled med..

"Lean forward please" she said to Dean, and she nearly folded him in half before he could comply. He shuddered despite himself while she dressed the incision, which had been left uncovered in the cast. The pressure on his side made him feel queasy. She released him.

"Your temp and heart rate are up. I'll inform the doctor." Then she turned her attention to Sam.

"You shouldn't be up yet. Are you in any pain? " she demanded, taking his pulse and pressing her dry, cool hand to his forehead.

"Really, ma'am—I feel ok. " he protested. " I promise I'll head back in a little while"

She frowned with disapproval at him and left.

"_Killer _bedside manner." Sam griped.

"--yeah, no kidding. She's a freaking robot. I didn't dare buzz her. Piss her off and she might decide you need an 

enema or something."  
Dean was glad she came though. The painkiller was a relief. He was feeling a little shaky.

Sam 's stomach was growling. "Are you hungry at all, Dean?"

"Are you _kidding?_ --I saw what they were pushing around on those meal carts—_no thanks!._ I feel a little off, actually. --Why?—are you planning to sneak out to a burger joint in your tie-on dress and towing your IV?"

"I would if I could get away with it. But no—I think I should probably head back. I'm getting kind of tired, and if they do come by with something they claim is food, -I might want to pick at it before it reverts to wood."  
He took off the blanket and dropped it back on the bed, rising uncomfortably to his feet..  
"Try to choke something down, Dean. You need it—you look kinda rough.. I'll find out the soonest I can leave here—if you see a doc, you could ask too. Ellen will want to know anyway. I'll see you later."

"Yeah., ok --And Sam…?"

"Mmm Hmm?"

"…the work-socks and dress --_not _a good look for you."

"Shut up-" Sam snorted.

Sam had just finished eating the plate of wax and styrofoam they called dinner when Ellen came in.

"Hello Sam. Mind some company?"

He assured her it was very welcome.

She looked at his left-overs—making a face.  
"Good news. Your doctor says you can already go home tomorrow. I guess they don't keep anyone lying around for long these days. –you know;--stitch your head back onto your neck and shove you out the door with a bandaid and a handful of aspirin. --Do you feel up to that..?"

"Oh yeah" he said, smiling with relief.

"What about Dean?—did you hear anything?"

"They're going to hang onto him for a few more days. Since this is the second time around for him, and with the touch of infection he had last time--they want to make sure he'll be free of that danger before he goes."

Sam thought about that for a moment. It was a bit unusual for Dean to be off his feed for any reason…. maybe it was that antibiotic…  
He hoped the doctors were on top of everything.

"He won't like that." he replied, lowering his voice-- "He's worried about the whole ID thing.—if they find out who we are he'll be hauled in to face those old charges. What are we going to say about Gordon?"

"Already handled. When you were brought in I went through your wallets and chose a couple of names that you hadn't used last time." _(the wisdom and experience of a hunter's wife..)_

" I wanted to make sure there was no link between the two incidents,--it helps that the first was out of state.  
And when I had to make my statement to the police, I told them that Gordon had been a regular at the roadhouse—which is _true_-- until he started getting strange and disruptive—at which point he was no longer welcome. I had plenty of people lined up to attest to the fact that he was irrationally angry about it, that he threatened to come back armed. Which he _did._ And you were two innocent patrons caught in the middle.  
So far, they bought it. Haven't had any other questioning—and with Gordon's history on record as a mental case--they don't seem to need to probe further. Cross your fingers…"

"That sounds pretty solid, Ellen—it's a huge relief. --Better tell Dean asap who he's supposed to be at the moment, so there's no confusion."

He added "I'm glad they're going to watch him a bit longer. He looks –I don't know--_greyish_—said he felt _off_. You know him—he won't tell _me_ if he feels sick., or if he hurts. --Maybe _you_ can get more out of him…"

"I'll check him over, Sam"  
Ellen reached into her bag and presented him with some fresh fruit: -grapes, an apple and some blueberries. She added crackers, some cheddar and a yogurt. She delighted in his look of appreciation. She knew he liked a healthy diet. She didn't pack any of that for Dean—figuring he was a lost cause. For him she had smarties and a chocolate flavoured Boost meal-supplement shake.  
_You do what you can, _she thought.

"Do you feel like you're on the mend, Sam?—you look stronger." She asked. "...how are you dealing with—everything….?."

Sam was bemused that everyone was so concerned about his psyche. _What was he? Some kind of six-and-a-half foot hothouse flower? _

"Ellen—I'm just glad its over.--And that none of you were hurt. I have a clear conscience. I wish none of it ever happened—but Gordon was the architect of this.  
And I am _so ,--so_ grateful for your help. You're a rock. I'll do everything I can to repay your kindness.--especially because of your help with Dean. Sometimes he…" he trailed off, helplessly.

Ellen understood.  
"Sam, our families will always be linked. Any time you need a buffer, or a landing pad—we are here. I know how it is between you and your brother. You and Dean --are so—beautifully, _horribly,_ connected….."

They looked at each other in perfect understanding.

Ellen returned to the here-and-now. "I should check in on him. You're ok for the night, Sam?"

"Better now—thanks Ellen."

"Right then—I'll be back in the morning. Sleep tight."  
She ruffled his hair and left.

Ellen knocked softly on Dean's door. When he didn't answer she opened it to find him retching, with a nurse attending him. She retreated hastily, apologizing.  
In a few moments, the nurse called for her to enter, mopping his sweating face and filling a cup of water for him. She looked up at Ellen and smiled softly.

" Just the antibiotics. They can be rough. "  
She turned back to Dean. " Ok now? "

"--yeah—think so--" he said hoarsely—completely embarrassed.  
--_Candy-ass, -he thought…_

The nurse retreated so that he could have his privacy with Ellen.  
He looked miserable. Ellen radiated sympathy. He wanted to crawl under a rock.

"Stupid question—but how are you feeling, Dean?" Ellen chanced.

" A little rough at the moment.." he admitted. " I didn't have this reaction last time."

"Last time you started out stronger. You body has limits, honey, -and you really tested them. Don't be discouraged. We'll have you home in no time."

That was the third or fourth time she used that loaded word. _Home_. He was comforted, but confused by it.  
Ellen pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucking it around him. He was shivering.

"Sam is well enough to go home tomorrow. " she said. " They want to keep an eye on you a bit longer. Your name is _Waylon Jensen,_ by the way— don't know how you come up with these….  
I don't want you to worry about anything, Dean. The Gordon saga is over and it has been dealt with --the police have a story they seem to accept, and in it, you two are pretty much anonymous bystanders. They won't be linking you to the first attack., I did my best to make sure of that. --And _he_ can't be arguing my version of events,--so…."

Dean leaned back into his pillow, eyes closed tightly.  
"--thanks for taking care of that , Ellen. I was worried…"

"I know.--But don't be. Just relax and get better. We'll spring you as soon as we can."

Sam was right—he _was_ too pale.  
She watched him a few moments longer….. then reached out and stroked his cheek. He was so different when he was vulnerable. Just like when he laughed—took years off him.

"Sam is worried you don't feel well, Dean. Anything you want to tell me?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "_Yeah _I feel crappy. What does he think? I'm in a hospital bed wearing a plaster perma-salute! _God—_I wish he could stop being my mother for five minutes—"

Ellen smiled. "Don't be so testy. He has your best interest at heart."  
She got up, preparing to leave for the night.. "Do what they tell you, Dean, -ok? They know what they're doing here. I want you back home as soon as possible, alright?"

"--ok" he whispered.

"Oh,--I brought some snacks for you—I'll just put them on the table for when you feel up to it. I'll see you in the morning. "  
He nodded.

Reluctantly, she left him and headed home.  
Poor Ash had been left to tend to business alone. He was so brilliant, yet _completely_ lacking in common sense. . She hoped she wasn't coming home to mayhem.


	9. Chapter 9

9

It was a beautiful morning. The sky was clear and there was a gentle breeze.  
It could have been grey and pouring—Sam would still have thought it was perfect. He was getting out of the hospital.

He was up early, they had removed his IV and he'd dressed in his own comfortable clothes. He wasn't sure what time Ellen was coming, so he thought he'd take the opportunity to check in with Dean.  
He didn't expect him to be awake—he wasn't a morning person at the best of times—but he'd look in on him just the same.

He felt a bit guilty-abandoning him to the nurses. But Dean would be sent home soon enough. It was just a short period of observation.  
Grabbing the apple he'd saved from the previous evening, he headed over to 214.

As he expected, Dean was sleeping. Sam sat in his usual chair and bit into his apple, looking his brother over.  
He noticed that Dean now wore a thin oxygen tube. Putting the fruit aside, he peered more closely at him, alarmed by his colour-or rather,- lack of it.  
He put a hand to his forehead.

Dean opened his eyes

"--Sam--?"

"Hey, Dean…..how are you doing?"

It took him a moment to focus.

"—ok., ….I guess. ….Had a rough night--threw up a couple of times.  
--Pass me some water, will you--?"

Sam filled a cup and held it to his mouth to sip.  
"What did the docs say about that?"

"—Same as before--antibiotics—" He tried to shift his position, in obvious discomfort. Sam raised the bed a bit.

"How's your shoulder and knee?"

"--my shoulder--? " Dean looked slightly confused, bringing his left hand up and touching his left shoulder.

"—Your injured one, dummy.--on your _other _right.--" Sam thought _he must still be half asleep._

"That one's ok. It's the _left _that hurts now. Sympathy pain, I guess…."

"That's weird. Did you tell anybody?"

Dean thought for a moment. "…..No.—didn't feel it 'til now.  
-- I can't get comfortable in this stupid cast,--it's probably that."

"--Maybe," Sam replied. "What does it feel like?"

Dean tried to blink away the annoying fogginess of his vision. He was just _so_ damned tired.  
"I don't know--just hurts... a little. Its _nothing_, Sam.-,--quit bugging me."

"Hmm. I guess you didn't eat much. Do you want to try this _Boost_ thing Ellen left for you.?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Ellen came by?"

"Last night, remember….?" Sam was getting worried. Dean seemed kind of out of it.

"--oh--right." He closed his eyes again.

_--Something isn't right… _Sam buzzed the nurse.

She came in, with a slightly annoyed expression. "Do you need something?"

"--Is he ok--? He seems a little confused. And he says his _left _shoulder hurts now."

She shook him gently—" Mr. Jensen….._Waylon_?…."

He was asleep again. She turned to Sam- "Are you sure he meant his left—he wasn't just confusing the two?"

" No, he was definite. It was the _left_."

She checked his vitals. . "His blood pressure is dropping." she frowned.  
She pulled back his sheet and lifted his gown. Sam was shocked to see the livid bruise over his left ribs, wondering how he came by it. The nurse pressed her hand gently on that area, -- Dean's eyes flew open and he drew a sharp breath.

" Is that tender?" She asked.  
He nodded.  
"Ok, I'm going to get Dr. Bowman. We'll get this sorted out." And she hastened out. Sam could hear the page over the com. system. Sounded urgent.  
_--Now what?!_

"Dean—hey, Dean—" Sam asked.  
--Dean turned and looked at him., glassy-eyed.  
"How'd you get that bruise on your side--?"

"—bruise? " He looked down at his midriff.  
"--oh—_Gordon_. --I didn't get up fast enough for his liking, so he thought he'd speed me up.…."

Sam, dismayed--continued- "Dean, what else happened before I got there? What did Gordon do?"

But Dean had already drifted off again.

Sam hoped Ellen would get here soon—he had to find out what happened before he came back and shot Gordon. There was obviously more to it than he was aware of.

The doctor came in. He tried to get information from Dean but had no luck rousing him this time. Sam reiterated what Dean had said about pain in the _left _shoulder, and told the doc about Dean's having been hit or kicked by his assailant. The doctor checked his blood pressure again, and examined Dean's side. He pressed the bruised area gently. Dean didn't awaken fully, but he definitely reacted to it..  
Sam watched anxiously.

"Mmm -hmm. Ok, I think what we're dealing with here is a possible spleen issue." the doctor said. "It most likely resulted from his being struck. "

"He said his left shoulder hurt--"

The doctor explained- "With a torn or ruptured spleen, sometimes a patient feels pain in the left side, and sometimes the shoulder, -and disorientation, -faintness.  
Blood pressure drops because there is internal bleeding. We see full ruptures more often—the symptoms there are more dramatic and unmistakable, -and life-threatening.  
With a small tear—the hemorrhage is much slower, and we often don't see any symptoms until there is enough blood loss to lower BP."

"What does _that_ mean?" asked Sam, panic rising.

"We'll do a cat scan to confirm. Then into surgery. Normally a rupture requires a splenectomy—but if the tear is small, we can repair it. We'll make that decision during the procedure."

"What _procedure?" _  
Ellen had come in halfway through the discussion. The doctor went over it again with her, and left to get it under way.

"Oh dear –" She shook her head and sighed. --"Poor Dean. --" Her eyes lingered on his ashen face as he slept.  
She rubbed Sam's shoulders, trying in vain to ease his evident tension.  
"Sam—you know he'll be fine. -- He's just going to think he'll _never_ get out of this place."

But her face was creased with worry.

Sam sighed. "Yeah……I know.."  
He kicked the side of the empty bed beside him- angrily- "You know this really _SUCKS!"_

"Yes" she sighed, "--it really _does."_

Hospital staff came in with a gurney and they transferred Dean onto it.  
He awoke in confusion—fearful,--not understanding why he was being moved-

"—Sammy--?"

"Right here, Dean--don't worry"

"--well……where am I going--?"

"Just a cat scan. Nothing to worry about.. We'll be here waiting for you."

"--uh….ok--"

And they rolled him away.

Ellen and Sam sat alone in the stillness of the room.

"How are you feeling, Sam?" she asked gently. "I know you are worrying—but how is your injury?"

"A bit sore—nothing to think about. Felt fine this morning—but now I'm getting tired."

He sighed heavily.  
"-Geez, Ellen,--I hope this is it, now. I mean, shit--_what next??" _He slumped down in the chair, dejected.

"Let's just stay positive for Dean's sake. We can't control what's around the corner, but the doctor doesn't seem to be overly worried—so neither should we.  
--I'm going to get us some coffee. Did you get breakfast yet?"

"No—but I'm not very—"

"I will bring something for you" she said, firmly. "I don't need to see _you _drop as well. Back in a minute"

She left and Sam put his head into his hands. The nervous worry was making him feel nauseous. Ellen was right, -he was running on empty –he needed something more than a bunch of kamikaze butterflies crashing around in his belly.

He wished that sonofabitch Gordon had survived the night. Then he could shoot him all over again….

Ellen came back, loaded with coffees, and various muffins and a couple of fruit salads. She handed half of them to Sam, -and hands on her hips, --waited until he obediently bit into a muffin. Satisfied, she sat down and sampled her own coffee.

"—Ugh—that's disgusting.." she grimaced "I'm sure these hospitals must buy their coffee grounds used from truckstops or something--"

They sat in silence, waiting. When everything had been consumed, she gathered up the litter and took it out to a trash can.

"Mmm—I forgot to tell you—Ash drove around the area looking for the impala yesterday, and he found it about a half mile away, hidden in the cottonwoods. It was muddy, and had a flat, -but it looks like it didn't suffer any damage. Not sure how much of the contents are still there. But that should cheer your brother a little."  


"That'll cheer him _a lot_, actually. He's nuts about that stupid car. That's really great news, Ellen.--remind me to thank Ash"

The surgeon entered for a brief discussion.

" Well, the cat scan does show damage to the spleen. We'll go ahead with surgery and repair or remove it, depending on how large that tear is. He is a little disoriented due to a reduction in blood oxygen levels. If you want to see him for a few minutes, you can go ahead. Then we'll prep him and get him in. This shouldn't take too long. Once he's in recovery we'll call you.  
You'd better hurry though, we want to deal with this hemorrhage as quickly as possible. Come on--".

Sam and Ellen walked with the doctor to X-ray.

Dean saw them as they entered-

"—Sam? What the hell's going on--?" he demanded—more than a little fearful.

"Did the doc explain everything to you, Dean?"

"—uh, … yeah—but it kinda went in one ear and out the other. Why aren't I going back to my room…?"

Sam explained what was happening to him, making sure he understood this time.

"Huh.. " Dean snorted --"parting gift from that sonofabitch…".  
The unhappy reality of the situation struck him and he lamented—  
"-Aw _man,—_I don't want to do this again! Come on Sam--can't we just ignore it? -- Maybe it will fix itself--"

" Sorry Dean—Doc says you need the surgery.. Wish I could change it….But you'll be ok, and we'll be here waiting……."

"The doctor isn't too worried about it, Dean," Ellen assured him, -"You'll get through this fine, and Sam and I will be right here when you come back"

"Just one more zipper in your hide,. Dean. -- more to thrill the ladies…." Sam squeezed his arm.  
At that point they were ushered out and the waiting game would begin.

Sam paced. Ellen knitted. She had started this scarf years ago—only taking it out when she was in a hospital waiting room. Thing must have been thirty feet long by now.

Finally, too many acrid coffees later, they saw the surgeon again.

"Well—we've managed to repair rather than remove the spleen. We could see exactly what we were dealing with through the cat scan, and knowing there was no other trauma, we were able to do this via laparoscopy, rather than through a larger incision. That's good news for our patient, because the surgical scars are very small as a result, so recovery time is shorter.  
Bottom line, is he'll be home in four or five days."

"_Whew_—that's great" said Sam. He had been consumed by worry, --this was so much better than he had dared hope.

Ellen added, "So this latest problem is _really_ solved?—Just recuperation now?"

The doctor assured her—"Shouldn't be any more problems. If we had removed the spleen, he'd have to be careful about being vaccinated for certain illnesses, and he'd have to be vigilant when it came to viruses—keeping exposure to a minimum. But since we could keep the spleen intact he won't have to deal with those issues. Now it's just a recovery situation..  
Ordinarily we have patients get up and walk around as soon as possible after this type of surgery, just to keep the lungs clear. But since he doesn't have that option, we'll monitor him for any signs of pneumonia for the next few days. Barring any complications, he'll be all yours again very soon."

"Thank you so much" Ellen said., --relief flooding through her voice.

Sam added- "When can we see him?"

"He'll be in recovery in a half hour—A nurse will inform you when he'll be accessible." He smiled at them and continued on his rounds.

Ellen enveloped Sam. They stayed that way for a few minutes. He fought the tears that threatened to break free of his self control, while she stroked his unruly hair soothingly.

"Well, good news _finally_.." she said, releasing him.

Sam nodded, wiping his tired eyes.

A short time later they were informed that they could see him.  
Dean was still under the anaesthetic,. He still looked grey.,--especially around his eyes. But he was sleeping peacefully, breathing with easy regularity. Ellen and Sam exchanged looks., saying nothing.

"Sam-I think I'll leave you to be here when he comes to. I really have to get things organized at home, --is that ok?"  
She really just wanted to allow him to have his privacy. Now that she was assured that Dean was recovering, she felt comfortable giving him the gift of space.

Sam thanked her again,--for everything.

"Nonsense" she said. "that's what family's for. I'll come by later tonight. Are you ok, Sam? You need to rest as well…."

"I'll grab a couple of chairs and a blanket and crash beside him for a while."

She squeezed his shoulder. "Good idea, Sam. I'll be back later with Ash. Take care…."

And she headed home.


	10. Chapter 10

10

Sam really was exhausted. And the latest stress had taxed him more than he had realized. He did exactly as he had told Ellen, and drifted off in no time.

Hours later, he awoke—and turned his gaze to his hapless brother.

Dean was awake, and he smiled a little..

"--check my innards will you? I think they're stealing my organs…"

Sam smiled back.

"Are you _kidding_--? -They're all ruined thanks to your lousy diet.. Nobody wants'em.."

"--you ok?" Dean whispered.

"Me?—no problem. How 'bout you?"

"--full of holes. It's all losing its charm…."

Sam laughed. " Doc says you can go home in four or five days. Unless you spring some new leak…'

"--don't plan to…." Dean mumbled. He was drifting off again. .

Sam smiled to himself and closed his own eyes—his brother seemed to have weathered this latest trauma. He was strong, and he would get better.  
He slept for a while longer—when he was interrupted by a visitor. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up, he greeted her with surprise.

"Hey—wow,--how are _you_--?"

Jo laughed.  
"I'm good. I hear you two have had some adventures though—"  
She kissed Sam on top of his head, glancing over at the sleeping patient.

" I talked to Mom—she filled me in on it all. Wow……you guys have a real knack for pissing people off to the point of homicidal mania!"

She took the extra chair and sat beside the bed.  
"--How is he, Sam?" Her expression softened.

"Ok—I think. -- It has been a rough ride—mostly for him. This latest thing—spleen apparently—seems to be under control. So if he manages to get a little healthier—they'll let him out in a few days.  
Then your poor mother gets to deal with him."

"hmm.." she mused. " He looks like _shit_. --Mind you—so do you."  
_Jo was not destined for a career in the diplomatic corps…._

"oh—well, thanks" he laughed. "How are things for you? Are you coming back for good or just visiting…?"

"Just a quick visit,--for now…." She looked at Dean for a moment again.  
"Mom,-in her infinite wisdom—phoned me and said I should get my butt down here. I'm glad she did. Lord knows what you guys will get into next—I may not get another chance."

"Your Mom has been amazing, Jo. Dean and I would have killed each other with shovels by now. And then, with all this latest Gordon crap right under her own roof--she's just a rock."

Jo smiled enigmatically. "Yep—she's hard-headed all right.  
--She loves this, you know. She'll never admit it--but she is _so_ the mother hen"

Dean stirred and opened his eyes. It took him a moment to recognize his visitor.

"--uh oh. I've died,-- and now I'm in hell--" he groaned.

"Nice! --That's typical. -Sam—you must be some kind of saint--" she laughed.

Dean smiled at her. She reached out and stroked his hair. Then they remembered who they were supposed to be, and each looked away, embarrassed.  


"Anybody else want a coffee—except you, Dean…?" Sam asked. –He thought he'd torture the two of them by leaving them alone together. Dean flashed him a _Don't you dare leave_ look, which he happily ignored,—heading out to the hall.

"So…" Dean ventured lamely.

They sat, looking at each other. --And at the window. --The floor.  
Moments dragged by.  
She fiddled with a fascinating thread on her sleeve.  
He scratched his head.— his classic expression of embarrassed discomfort.  
Finally Jo couldn't help herself, -and she broke into laughter, and Dean laughed and groaned.

"Oh my god. What are we going to do??" she said.

He looked at her, sadly- "—In any other life…you know that, don't you?…"

"—I know."

She trailed her hand over his face.

"I had to come by to make sure you were going to be ok.. …._Are_ you--?"

"--yeah…………thanks, Jo."

She got up, and kissed his forehead., sighing.

" I have to escape before my mother nabs me and holds me prisoner……but if I hear of you getting into any more crap—I'll come back here and kick your butt,--got it?"

He nodded solemnly.

"Let mom do her _hen_-thing, Dean….. it'll be good for you."  
She smiled-- "Plus, it takes the heat off me—"

She lingered in the doorway for a moment. He watched her—raising his fingers off the blanket in a good-bye.

"I'll be calling to check on you--so behave yourself…"  
And she was gone.

Sam came in. Dean's eyes were closed.

"--you're an asshole." Dean growled.

Sam said nothing. He didn't know why these two couldn't just break down the damn wall. They were going to end up waving to each other wistfully from either side forever.

The nurse broke the tension, checking and noting Dean's vitals. She gave him his meds, Sam helped her lean him forward—more gently this time—so that she could tend to his back, and then check the newest stitches on the front.. She seemed satisfied, and she left.

Tired, Dean pressed his head back against the pillow and shut his eyes.

_"Ow."_

"What hurts, Dean?" Sam asked, instantly concerned.

" _Everything._ "

Sam was instantly ready to tackle the nearest doctor, but Dean assured him—  
"--Relax Sam—I just meant--…" he looked away for a moment. "It's just been a rough couple of days. I'm really, really tired, and I just want to get out of here.."

Sam understood.  
" Just a few more days, Dean. Look, do you want to crash for a while? Ellen was planning on returning this evening—it's probably near that time now, but we can come back in a little while—"

Dean really just needed to be alone.  
"--maybe for a little while, Sam.--You should get some dinner by now anyway…"

"Sure. I'll keep an eye out for them—they can grab a coffee with me and you can relax. How 'bout we come back around six?"

Dean nodded.

Sam got him more water and then gave him his space.

Alone—Dean tried to shut his mind down. Too much lately. _Just too much._  
He felt like a spider that had been smacked with a newspaper—wanting to curl all his limbs inward and stop feeling _anything_.  
He wasn't used to being sick—didn't want to hurt anymore. He usually had a high tolerance for this sort of thing--he was used to it, had the scars to prove it. But this time he felt let down,…unfairly beat up by karma, or fate or whatever. Everything, right down to his spirit, felt bruised. Hell--even his _hair _hurt.  
He sighed deeply, hating his weakness…felt like he was never going to be whole again.  
He just wanted to get into his car and drive and drive and _drive_.

But he remembered. On top of everything, -the impala was gone.

His eyes prickled with angry tears. _"F—k!", _- he thought.  
And that pretty much summed it all up.

His depressed mood wore him out and he did fall asleep.

Sam had gotten some things from the cafeteria and decided to wait in the common area for the others.. He knew Dean well enough to see that he needed to sort out his emotions a bit. No one could go through the wringer like that and not have some emotional upheaval.  
Sam wished he could help, but he (_usually)_ knew when to back off.

He nibbled at his dinner, -watching the parade of strangers heading in and out—each consumed by their own particular drama.

As he finished his carton of milk—he began to realize that there was a higher than average police presence in the lobby.  
One or two officers wasn't unusual—there were always incidents that brought them out to a hospital. _I'm becoming as paranoid as Dean,_ he thought.

But moments later, he was sure that there was something going on. They seemed to be engrossed in discussion—organizing –

Sam's heart was suddenly in his throat. He was sure now that he wasn't imagining things—it looked like they were mobilizing. There could have been a hundred reasons as to why they were there—but Sam had the sinking feeling that it involved Dean.

As he eyed them as discreetly as possible, he saw Ellen and Ash arrive. He kept his head down and headed towards them, giving a silent look of warning to Ellen.

Ellen knew instantly that there was something wrong. Sam herded them to a far corner where they could monitor things surreptitiously while they talked.

"What's going on, Sam,--there are a lot of police out—" she asked, -keeping her voice low. Ash kept his eyes on the officers as they spoke.

"I don't know, Ellen—but I'm worried its about us—I mean, it could be anything, but –"

"Sam, if they are here for him—we can't even go near that room right now. We'll all be picked up for questioning at 

the very least, -and we won't be able to do anything for him from the police station. I can explain my part—but you could be held for who knows what.—"

He knew she was right.  
Ash volunteered to check on things. He figured he would just saunter past 214 and see if Dean was alone, or awake.

Ellen and Sam waited tensely for his return. In the meantime they discussed their options.—which were few.

"If they bring him in—we're screwed—" Sam mused. "With that murder charge alone—he won't be getting out on bail—even if we had the funds to cover it. And they'll be adding identity fraud, credit card fraud—you name it.  
Then they'd transfer him out of state to be arraigned. We just can't let that happen."

" I may be wrong," Ellen added—" but I don't think they'd move him until he's officially released from the hospital. They don't have medical facilities or any kind of infirmary at the station here.  
If that's the case we only have a short window of opportunity to somehow get him out of here—a day or two at best. And then what?'

Sam's mind was a whirl. "They'd go straight to the roadhouse first—there's no way we could hide there--and we can't put you and Ash in that position. Right now you are not connected to us in any way other than the incident, and we have to keep it that way."

As much as Ellen wanted to keep them safe—she knew he was right—their whole world would be jeopardized by police scrutiny or charges,--and it wouldn't help the brothers in any way.  
And even if they even managed to secret Dean out of the hospital under the nose of the police--they would have to find some other place to hide. Had to be somewhere habitable too—they couldn't put someone who had surgery mere hours ago in some cold, damp barn or out in the elements.  
Not to mention the fact that Dean was hardly mobile.

Their discussion was cut short by Ash's return.

"So far so good—no cops posted there yet. But I heard _Winchester _as I passed them—so I think it's safe to assume they're here for him.  
I couldn't stand there listening, so I didn't get anything else. What do you think we should--"

"Hang on—" Sam interrupted. "They're moving. _Shit!"_

Ellen held his arm. "It's too late now, Sam." she cautioned—" We have to wait and see if they are going to let him stay or if they're taking him now--"

Sam was so tense, he was on the verge of throwing up. He was having a hard time keeping rein on his rising panic. This was really bad for them.—all the circumstances were conspiring to sink them.

Ellen could see his panic.  
"Take a deep breath, Sam. It's not lost yet. We need to think about this and plan some way to spring him if we can. But first we have to see what his situation is."  
She took a kerchief out of her purse, wound her hair into a bun and tied the cloth over her hair. At least she looked a bit different.

"I'm going up there. --Stay here, Sam. Here—keep your head down and look like you're reading the paper. Ash,--try to see if you can get closer to any of them—maybe you can find out what the plan is. I'll be back in a little while—"

She took the stairs and was gone.  
Ash wandered a little closer to the officers left standing in the lobby,--pretending to look for change for the coffee machine. He listened to see if he could catch any of their conversation. He took some change and bought a beverage, and settled in a chair nearer to the group.

Sam sat with his eyes on the paper—seeing only black squiggles on the pages. He had to check to make sure he didn't have it upside down. He tried hard not to vomit into it.

Ellen walked slowly up to Dean's door. No one was posted outside, but she could hear several officers in the room. 

She looked around furtively and then stood out of sight, listening.

She heard the distinct rattle and click of handcuffs. _Damn! _  
They were reading Dean his rights.

Dean wasn't protesting. He was still shocked and bewildered—having been shaken awake out of a deep sleep—and he was trying to comprehend what the _hell _was happening.

The surgeon was there, and he was talking to the officers—making sure they understood that his patient, -regardless of the charges—was not in any shape to leave the hospital yet—transporting him today was out of the question.

They radioed that information and were advised to follow the recommendation of the doctor. He was to be guarded until he was deemed fit to travel.

_Thank god for that,_ thought Ellen. Now they had time and a chance to do something.

The policemen discussed further details with their supervisor and the doctor, and then headed toward the door.  
Ellen could hear they were coming, and she continued past the room nonchalantly, and made her way back to the lobby.

Making eye contact with Sam, she motioned for him to move into a nearby hallway, so they could speak without being watched.

"He's been arrested. But they are keeping him here until the surgeon allows him to be moved. They must have hand-cuffed him to the bed rail—I heard it but couldn't see. And he'll have someone posted by the door until he is released…"

Sam blanched. She thought he was going to faint. It had been easy to forget that he was himself just out of the hospital--she realized this was a lot of shock for him to handle.

"Come outside with me, Sam-" she said, guiding his elbow. She caught Ash's eye and he followed a few seconds later.

Once outside, they found a bench and sat down as they came to grips with the news. Sam covered his face with his hands. He couldn't think, he was so addled by fear.  
"Oh my god, Ellen—What are we gonna _do??"_

She was shaken as well.  
"I don't know, Sam. But we need to get back home so we can sit down and work this out.. Don't argue—I know you want to stay near him. But you can't help him while this place is crawling with police.  
We have to let things settle down—and frankly—you need to get a grip on your panic. Ash—can you stay here and watch? We need to know when things quiet down and he has only the one guard. I'll leave my car with you—here's the keys."

Ash nodded and caught them. He had driven the impala, thinking Sam would want his own transportation.  
Ellen and Sam drove it back to the roadhouse.

They spent the half hour trip without speaking, as they absorbed the gravity of this unwelcome turn of events.

Dean lay in stunned silence as his world fell apart in front of him.  
His head throbbed --he tried to rub his eyes, —but he was reminded that his left hand was chained to the rail.  
This was the _last _thing he expected when he was awakened abruptly, and he hardly had anything left to deal with this new nasty twist..

_How the hell did they find out who he was?? _

He was too shocked to respond when they asked him if _that _was his name, and read him his rights. He couldn't believe it was happening--he just nodded dumbly.

His heart was racing—he felt like he was going to pass out.  
_This is it, _he thought. --_There's no way out of this. --I'm going to prison. --I'm screwed._  


_Now_ he started to panic. He shut his eyes and pressed his head back against the pillow—trying to catch his breath, --while sweat beaded and slid down his face. He shook uncontrollably, hyperventilating…  
A nurse came in—checking on him, --a sharp expression of distaste creasing her features.  
But she was professional, and taking one look at his distress—she called the doctor.

Dr. Bowman gave him a sedative. His job was to see this young man achieve some measure of recovery, --not to judge him. Leave that to the courts.  
He was curious though. He'd spent enough time with this group of people—he'd have described them as quality. He stayed with Dean for a few moments.

Dean read his mind.

" I didn't kill anybody. --And it's too goddamn strange and complicated to explain…" He was still worked up, and his eyes brimmed.  
" you should empty a few more of those needles. Save them the trouble—"

The doc sat down for a moment. He looked Dean in the eye.

"I know you're stronger than that, son. I don't know what went on in St Louis, and I can't help you with that. But I _can_ help you get better so you can deal with it.  
I think I can believe you if you say you're innocent—but it's just not my job to make that call. –But I won't let you out of here until you are strong enough to battle your case—that _is _my job. But you've got to help yourself, ok? --So no more of that kind of talk."  
Dean nodded, and looked away. The doc gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and left him alone.

At least the doctor came to his aid. They were ready to haul his ass to jail, but he got his couple of days.  
Not that it mattered.

As the sedative started to work, he thought miserably—  
_--wish that sonofabitch had better aim._


	11. Chapter 11

11

Ellen poured something strong into two glasses, and carried them to where Sam hunched.. She sat across from him, handing him one. He drank from it gratefully—not caring this time what it tasted like. His hands were shaking.

"Eat your sandwich, Sam." she ordered. There was no point in talking until he had some nourishment and his frayed nerves were more settled. He obeyed, and when it was gone, she began to plan.

"Ok. This is our situation.  
Number One--he's got a couple of days before being taken to St. Louis. That's good—it could have been immediate.  
Number Two—there will be times that he has only one guard.  
Three—I think he's handcuffed to the rail.  
Four—He is not able to get around under his own power. --And we know he's still very weak.  
Anything you can add to that, Sam?"

He thought for a moment.  
"I should be able to undo the cuffs. I know _he_ can, but he might not be able to do it with his right. I'll carry pliers just in case, so let's count that as not a problem.  
As to timing—I'd say we should try something at night. His guard will be less sharp, or at least less likely to think there could be any escape threat.  
And there will most likely be no other cops. They won't even think he can try to escape because of his current state—especially with the cast etc. So they won't be watching him like hawks.  
But as to what day—if we do have a choice—as much as I want to go tonight, he still needs to be in hospital. I mean—I don't wanna _kill_ him in the process of saving him…so—tomorrow evening or night..?  
And as to the mobility thing—we won't be moving him without a gurney—so we'd better make that part of whatever ruse we come up with….."

Ellen nodded, pleased that he was thinking with clarity.- She added--  
"This won't be a complicated plan –just _nervy_. We have to have a plausible reason to take him out of the room. And the only thing would be some medical emergency or something.  
--I guess I'll be posing as a nurse. And we need a way to either distract or disable the one guarding—because he will want to go wherever Dean is supposed to be taken—x-ray or whatever.

And we'll need transportation waiting, ready to get out asap. I think Dean's car is best suited, because its fast and the back seat is roomy—if we manage to get that far we're going to have to get him into the car as fast as we can. I'd have suggested Bobby's truck, but he's out of state at a swap meet.  
And--we need to have a destination that's close but safe—because if you stay on the road for any length of time they will have alerted police across the state and they'll be watching for you…"

"Right," said Sam. "So for bodies.—we need a nurse, a driver, someone to deal with our guard, and at least one extra set of hands to open doors etc. while you are racing with that gurney.  
You said you are our nurse. I'll take out the guard. Ash can have the car ready and waiting—and he can be the one with you when you need help with moving him.  
When we all get to the car, I'll help get Dean in and drive. Does that work?"

"I guess it has to. I know that hospital well—been there enough times with Bill—so I can choose a route to get out the fastest, --short of going out the front doors. So we just need a destination.  
I know this will be rough on Dean, and we need to find a place where he can rest comfortably for a few of days at the least. At that point—if we get there—we can look at the bigger picture."

Sam ran his hand through his hair. " Ellen—you're risking a lot here. These are pretty _lousy_ odds."

" Won't argue with _that_.  
But Sam—I can't stand the thought, --any more than you can—of your brother spending the rest of his life in prison. If I thought there was any chance to do this successfully with lawyers, as much as I hate them--—I would. But our explanations are too damned _outlandish_—there isn't a hope in hell they'd believe what really happened in Missouri.  
So that leaves us with this ridiculous comic-book escape plan." She sighed. "I need another brandy—how 'bout you?"

" Yeah, thanks.."

As Ellen re-filled—they got a call from Ash. The wall phone was still broken, so Sam took it at the bar. He spoke briefly, and returned to his seat.

" Ash says they cleared out. There's still one cop in the lobby and the one by the room. He couldn't get to Dean to see how he was doing but he asked a nurse, and she said he was ok—he's sleeping. They gave him a sedative because he was _agitated_,--whatever that means. Ash is on his way back here."

"Well" said Ellen. "at least he's resting, one way or another. That's important—he needs to get stronger. Especially since we'll be throwing him around a bit during this little escapade…." She poured him a third. He looked at her quizzically..

"Just _drink_ it Sam. This is your last chance to loosen your spring a little. God knows it'll be wound good and tight tomorrow!"

He drained it—appreciating the relaxing warmth it offered. Ash came in, and grabbing a beer, he sat down with the other two. They filled him in on the plan, and he counted himself in without hesitation.

Ellen had a thought regarding a place to hide out. Jo had rented a cabin about forty miles away a while ago with some girlfriends. It was on a small stream, in a little dip surrounded by evergreen and aspen bush. About as secluded as this corner of Nebraska could offer.  
If it was still available—it would be suitable to hole up in for a few days. The area didn't offer a whole lot in terms of isolated accommodation. The only other choice was hiding amongst the corn stalks or in some hayloft, which under the circumstances was out of the question.  
People out here were very interested in the comings and goings of their neighbours, so a stay at any more civilized lodgings would be sure to draw some nosy local's attention.  
She looked the number up and called before it got too late.

She returned to the sitting area with the address written on a piece of paper, and gave it to Sam, handing a sandwich to Ash at the same time.. Ash looked at the slip, and gave a thumbs up of approval—knowing the location.  
" I've rented it in Jo's name again.—they remembered her from last time. I think it will suit your needs, at least for a few days, Sam. Ash has been to it, so he can give you directions. It's less than an hour away, but its in a pretty quiet area.  
You don't want to be on the road for any longer than that."

"This should work—thanks, Ellen." Sam was starting to feel the effects of the day—he was ready to drop.

Ash volunteered to outfit the car with provisions for the stay. Ellen helped him gather food and the first aid kit, a couple of blankets, some water.  
She added a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels to the bundle. And a few useful items from the gun cabinet. She wasn't encouraging any Butch Cassidy type ending, but it helped if they could defend themselves against what ever else might come along.  
Ash handed Sam an odd looking device. Another of his own creations—

"What is it?" asked Sam, turning it over and examining it.

"Little taser. …a zapper—_you_ know. Use it on your guy tomorrow—it won't hurt him but I guarantee he'll drop when you do."

"Thanks—" Sam shook his head in wonderment. "Man, I'm glad you're on _our _side—"  
Ash grinned and shrugged.

Ellen interjected—" Have you tested that thing Ash? We don't have any room for error tomorrow."

"Uh,--yeah" he said sheepishly. " Couple of times. On myself…"

Ellen shook her head.  
Sam laughed. "I don't want to know _any more_ about that.."

Ellen herded everyone to bed at that point. They'd go over it all tomorrow morning.  
As Sam settled in—she came in for a moment and sat down.

"How are you feeling, Sam? --I mean your wound. Do I need to check it?"

"It's fine. Not bothering me at all, Ellen"

"Good." She sighed." –Sam—are you up to doing this? There's a very good chance we will fail…"

"I know, Ellen. ……. C'mere—" He hugged her.  
That did it--she cried for a minute, then pulled away, embarrassed, -wiping her eyes.

_"That _didn't happen, you know. Now go to sleep."

He smiled at her. "G'night Ellen…"

--

Despite the trauma, the sedative ensured that Dean slept soundly, and he awoke feeling stronger. The recent ache in his side and shoulder had abated, and his knee and right shoulder gave him no real complaints, other than itching. He was grim, but he no longer felt panic.  
He wasn't looking forward to the day. He missed having Sam around.  
But then, he realized bitterly—_he'd better get used to it._

It was early, the sky was still in the process of brightening from the grey-blue of dawn. He could see the legs of the officer stretched out by his door.  
A bun-wearing, bespectacled nurse bustled in with a basin of water and wash items. Her head was turned to speak to the man at the door.

"Sir—I have to bathe this patient—could you please close the door for a few moments?"

The officer peered in—and satisfied that it was ok, he closed the door. The nurse turned to Dean and put her hand over his mouth.  
_It was Ellen._

"Are you alright?" she whispered.  
He nodded, eyes wide.

"We are going to get you out of here tonight, understand? Sam and Ash, and I."

Dean shook his head emphatically and whispered "Ellen, don't. --too risky for you.—This is _my _problem—"

She shushed him sharply.  
"Now you listen.—we are _going _to do this, so save your breath. You need to suffer a medical emergency at exactly ten past nine—is that clear? Just writhe around and groan a lot--The rest is up to us.—"

Bewildered, he showed he understood.

She placed a small travel clock on his night stand.  
"Good. Don't forget the time—_ten after nine,_ you have some sort of painful attack. You do your part and we'll do ours—got it?"  
Again he nodded.

She kissed him on the cheek, washed his face quickly and warned him to get as much sleep before that time as he could. He'd need it. She opened the door, --basin in hand--, winked at him, and was gone.

For a moment, Dean thought he was hallucinating.  
_That woman is nuts, _he thought. --Sleep! How the hell could he sleep_ now??_  
He was a knot of anxiety, but he allowed himself a little feeling of hope.  
It was insane—they'd never get away with it……but he'd rather die out in a corn field  
than survive in a state pen.

Ellen still wore her pilfered uniform when she arrived back home. She had left before the others were up, but they were having coffee as she returned.

"Wow—and Dean thought he had a tough nurse _before_--!" Sam teased.

Ellen made a face and poured a coffee.  
"I saw him—he seems to be doing alright. He knows the plan, I told him what he has to do—I think he's clear on it. --And he argued, of course--he's afraid for us—but I set him straight."

She sat down with a pen and paper.  
OK—we'll be in both cars—Ash and Sam will drive the impala and leave it running in front of the service bay on the west side. Ash-do you know where I mean?"

"The underground entrance--?"

"Yes. --Now, Dean will be suffering a "medical crisis" at exactly ten after nine. At that point I will come in and do my nurse thing—I'll suggest he's hemorrhaging and needs an emergency CAT scan--I'll pretend to speak to a doctor—and Sam,-you come in with a gurney, get Dean onto it, and then help our officer friend have a little nap while I wheel it out of there. I have an orderly uniform for each of you.—you can fight over the colours…Ash—you hang around in the hall and when you see me coming—just keep my path clear. --You'd better tuck that silly hair of yours into your collar, by the way. We'll be taking the first set of elevators on the right—we'll get off on the basement level—and then race to the ramp and bay that connect it up to the parking lot.

Sam—once the officer is dealt with—get down as fast as you can to the car. We will have to get Dean into the back seat quickly—but that will be awkward with that cast. Try not to break him--  
Once he's in, Sam, you get the hell out of there and drive to the cabin—are you clear on the directions?"

Sam nodded.

"Good. The key will be up on top of the door trim. Ash and I will ditch our uniforms and walk to my car and drive back here.  
And then we hold our breath and cross our fingers. Did I miss anything?"

"Security cameras-" said Ash. "If we show up on tape we're toast.--but I know how to fix it.--a water pistol loaded with olive oil."  
Sam looked at him like he'd lost his mind, but Ash insisted- "No, really—you squirt the lenses—makes the focus fuzzy but they can't really tell anything is wrong. If we just knock a bunch of them out, they'll know right off that something's up. This way they won't be able to see details clearly enough on the tape later to ID anybody.—"

Ellen shook her head—"Where do you_ learn_ these things?!"

"Frosh week at MIT—" he grinned.

Sam remembered --" I haven't replaced our cell phones yet—is there a phone in the cabin?".

Ash handed him his cell. "Take mine for now. I'll get it from you later when we come out to check on you guys."

Sam was grateful. "Thanks, Ash.._Whew--_hope this works….."

Ellen mused- "Well…this is by far the stupidest thing I've ever done. This will either work brilliantly—or go down like a ridiculous sit-com, or a COPS episode.  
But --things can get pretty boring around here, --so what the hell..? -- Here's to _stupidity"_ She raised her mug and they toasted.

The next few hours were torture for everyone involved. Sam paced nervously, Ellen busied herself with mundane tasks. Ash made sure both vehicles were gassed up and ready.

Dean fretted about his impending acting stint. He felt stupid, --the idea of artificially moaning and groaning embarrassed him. He was afraid he'd ham it up too much—or not enough. He certainly had enough real experience to draw from, but those were details he would have preferred to forget.  
He realized he was over-thinking it, and he shut his eyes and tried his best to wind down a bit, -- to rest, as Ellen had advised.  
Naturally _that _didn't work.

If his heart beat any harder it was going to pop. He pressed his elbow into his bruised side.  
--Yeah—_that _hurt. He could do that if he needed to sound more convincing…

Dean's nervousness must have been evident. Dr. Bowman came in at 5:00 and thought he should be sedated again--and it took some convincing by Dean to avoid that. That would have been a bit of a wrench in the works—a peacefully sleeping Dean at ten past nine, instead of one that was supposed to be writhing in dire distress….  
Dean assured the concerned doctor that he was ok—and promised to tell a nurse if he became ill or overwhelmed again. _Decent guy—thought Dean…_

Finally at around seven—he thought he should start making noises that something wasn't right. The officer at the door hadn't even looked at him all day—but Dean started shifting around and groaning loud enough to cause the man to poke his head in the door. He quieted again, and the officer disappeared from view. He did this a few times—and at one point he overheard him ask a nurse to check things out.  
_Good _-- thought Dean. _--Oscar material… _

Of course when the real nurse did ask if everything was ok—he told her he was fine—just uncomfortable.

The minutes crawled by agonizingly. Finally the travel clock showed 9:00—and Dean stepped up his performance. He felt like a complete idiot—but he tried to emulate the Dean who was brought in bristling with arrows. ….He made a good enough show—it brought the officer in, asking-  
"Do you want me to call a nurse..?"

Dean had his elbow jammed firmly in his side, and the sounds he made at that point were pretty much authentic. He turned to the officer, eyes watering—voice slightly strangled--  
"—no—It's just aching—I'm sure it's ok.--I can buzz her from here if it gets worse…"

"Ok…" the man said with some uncertainty.

Dean was pleased so far—just hoping that he didn't rip any sutures in his quest to be so convincing..

Finally the clock showed 9:10—_Show-time--_ and Dean gripped his IV line in his teeth, pulled it out of his hand and let out a _yell._ That brought his guard in fast—  
--"Look—let me call a doctor or something--"

Dean was squirming around, eyes squeezed shut in mock agony with his left arm holding his supposedly painful guts—  
" Its ok-" he gasped—"I already buzzed the nurse—"

And as the man hovered by Dean, the "nurse" entered, went straight to the patient, --all concern--and asked what was wrong.

"My side hurts—" Dean groaned.

She pretended to check his blood pressure and temperature—muttering "Oh Dear" and "That's not good.." She thought she caught Dean stifle a _smirk_--Then she pulled the blanket down, exposing his midriff enough for the guard to catch sight of the incisions and bruise, -for good measure, --and placed her hand on his stomach—asking if it hurt…

Dean let out a legitimate _YELP--_  
--Ellen had secretly been holding an ice-cube in her hand earlier, just in case the drama needed a boost..

"I think he's hemorrhaging—" she said gravely to the flustered guard. "I'll go speak to his doctor immediately!"  
Then to Dean—"Sir, I'll be right back—you hang in there!--"  
She ordered the cop to watch him for any signs of heart-failure….which unnerved him further—he really wasn't trained for this--

Dean continued his show of agony, and his guard grew increasingly uncomfortable-

"--um….easy, there pal—help is on the way--" he offered…...

A moment later two orderlies rolled a gurney into the room as Nurse Ellen returned,  
" We need to get this patient to radiology for an emergency CAT scan" she announced, as the orderlies prepared to transfer Dean onto the gurney.  
The policeman looked relieved…  
Every one had overlooked the problem of the handcuffs—and mid-transfer, Dean's left arm was yanked straight and they nearly dropped him between the beds because his wrist was still tethered. --_Bad orderlies--_  
Nurse Ellen directed a thunderous glare of disapproval at the policeman—who immediately sprang,-- key in hand,-- and undid the restraint. The trio moved the gurney and its contents swiftly into the hallway as the officer prepared to follow—

But Orderly#1 stepped back into the room and discreetly applied Ash's home-made device to the unfortunate man—who made an odd little sound and dropped to the floor, -- rigid, with —well, _a shocked_—expression on his face—  
He was quickly trussed and gagged, and Orderly Sam hauled him onto Dean's bed, threw a blanket over him, and took off for the basement.

Ellen raced down the hall faster than Ash could stay ahead opening doors, and more than once the gurney smashed into them on the way through—with a growl of protest from the patient.  
They flew into the elevator—scattering a few visitors waiting there, and punched the basement button—willing it to go faster—  
Moments later the back of the elevator opened and the escapee and accomplices sped out to the waiting car, which was still rumbling comfortingly at the front of the bay door.  
Ash threw the back door open and he and Sam literally stuffed Dean into the space—whacking his head and then his plaster-encased arm against the door frame as he swore with a vengeance.  
Ash slammed the door shut just short of severing Dean's toes as Sam leapt into the driver's seat, revving the engine to a _roar.._

With an anxious and grateful glance at Ellen, Sam floored it out of the parking lot . squealing away into the dusk.  
Ash and Ellen regarded each other with relief and disbelief, while hastily whipping off their stolen uniforms and discarding them. She pitched the glasses and let her hair down.  
They fast-walked to her car, and Ellen unlocked the doors, turning anxiously to look back once more at the hospital building.  
But before she could enter the car, a figure quickly approached them, --placing his hand on the door's edge and preventing her movement.

_The Good Dr. Bowman._

Ellen stood, momentarily speechless.  
He wordlessly handed her a slip of paper.--_His cell number.  
_With a slight smile, he turned and walked back to the building.

Ellen, her heart pounding, -looked down at it, --then at the figure receding from view.  
Snapping out of it, she pocketed it, starting the car and curbing her urge to squeal out of the parking lot.  
They drove carefully and safely back to the roadhouse, both too shocked to say much.

"Oh my god--we _did_ it…. " murmured Ellen, still stunned.

_"Ho-ly shit_…..!" added Ash.


	12. Chapter 12

12

This time Dean was writhing in earnest. They'd just about brained him in the transfer from the gurney to the back seat of the impala. And his cast was cracked at the elbow.  
But the reality was, he was _laughing._ Laughing so hard that he was gripping his stitches, trying to keep from splitting open….

"Hi Dean…How are _you?" _asked Sam—the infectious insanity of the moment getting a firm grip on him as well….

Dean couldn't answer, he was trying too hard to curb his own hysteria.  
But he finally managed- "Good Sammy, thanks--_You??"_

Sam was beyond a coherent answer. He was laughing so hard the tears streamed down his face, and he was in danger of driving off the road.  
Dean couldn't stop, despite his expressions of pain interspersed with his laughter.  
"Shit Sammy—stop!" -- _more laughter—"_Ow—no seriously—quit it!" --_Guffaws—'_'Aw c'mon, Sam!!" _He He He!_ "—don't make me laugh!"--_Talk about side-splitting humour…  
_Dean finally got a grip, and realized that he was in a very familiar place.  
"Sam—_my car—!"_

"Ash found it and cleaned her up" he said. "We never got the chance to tell you—"

Dean managed to sober his mood somewhat.  
" Sam—this is unbelievable. I can't believe you guys pulled it off. I really thought I was screwed."  
But then he started to laugh again…  
"—_damn _that hurts…! " he gasped— "Where are we going??"

" A nice little rustic cabin. I'm told it's perfect…"

There was silence from the back for a little while.

Sam asked-" You ok?"

Dean was overwhelmed by the audacity and sacrifice of his friends and family….  
"..…..yeah, Sammy………I just thought……I was so _sure _I was….I mean--."

"I know, Dean. …"

"How soon 'til we get there, Sam?"

"About a half hour…"

" Good.--'cuz I'm bleeding--"  
And he broke out laughing again.

Sam was suddenly serious—"Dean—you're bleeding? Should I pull over—are you ok.??"

Soft laughter from the back--  
"—yeah—it's fine, Sam. I'm just gonna crash for a few minutes…"

Sam turned the car to the shoulder of the road and idled. He turned on the dome light and looked over at his brother.  
He was indeed unconscious at the moment. Sam couldn't see where he was bleeding or how much,-- he still had the hospital sheet tangled around himself-- but Dean seemed to be sleeping comfortably—he was _smiling_, no less.  
He decided that the best course was to continue on and get safely to shelter. Ash's directions were clear and he found the place without incident.

Rolling to a stop in the driveway—he eyed their accommodations. It was indeed rustic—no argument there.  
But it looked secure, and comfortable enough, and certainly isolated.  
He exited the car and approached the door—remembering where Ellen had said to look for the key. He found it, opened the door and peeked in. Beds. Blankets. Kitchen. Bathroom.  
_Perfect_

He emptied the car of its contents, carrying them into the cabin, and lit the propane lamps. He saw a woodstove but didn't see any firewood—he'd have to hunt some up tomorrow morning. It was chilly--he was glad they had brought extra blankets.  
Locating the closest bunk—he pulled the covers back and returned to the car to retrieve Dean.

Dean was fast asleep. The past few hours had been pretty tense—no wonder he was exhausted. Sam tried to rouse him enough to help him into the cabin—and that was about as much as he got. He managed to maneuver his brother out of the car without doing too much damage this time, and he carried him in and put him directly onto the bed.  
Dean was obviously beat—so was Sam for that matter.  
He was shivering—all he had on was the plaster cast and a pair of boxers and socks. –_Too bad I don't have my phone_, thought Sam--_would have made a great photo_…  
He dug out a pair of grey sweat pants and tugged them onto Dean's sleeping form, struggling to get the one leg over the bulky brace.. He'd dress him more completely in the morning.

The blood Dean had made reference to was smeared across his midriff—but really looked worse than it was--just a few stitches torn out from the sutured place in his side. Dean protested sleepily as Sam cleaned it up and bandaged it--good enough for the moment—he'd check again tomorrow. .  
He pulled the covers over him, adding another blanket, and then collapsed into another bunk himself.  
He almost forgot to call Ellen, but he let her know they made it and were alright. She and Ash were _very_ relieved. Sam promised he'd call again first thing in the morning.  
He didn't remember putting the phone down. He fell asleep instantly, shoes and all...

Sam had no intention of getting up at dawn--he just had no choice.  
The little cabin was surrounded by pines, and in those trees were hundreds of birds who were obviously overjoyed and singing to the rising sun.  
Had the circumstances been different, he might have been charmed by this manifestation of nature's beauty.  
This morning, however—he wanted to fry the little buggers for breakfast.  
He groaned and attempted to block out the sound with the meager pillow that came with the bunk. Unfortunately it smelled like a mouse nest—so he discarded it. He sat his weary self up, leaned against the log wall and rubbed his bleary eyes.  
He could see his breath, --he thought it must be pretty cold outside. It was certainly chilly inside. He made a mental note that California, or Mexico, would be excellent choices for their next destination.

He rooted around in his bag for a fleece, and finding one—he pulled it over his head. He bent down to find his shoes, realizing then that he'd slept with them on.  
Sighing, he thought-_ "well, I'm awake now. Might as well do something useful._."

Firewood was a priority. Had to be some around—or at least some dry branches. He got up, stretched, and headed toward the door.  
Dean was snoring contentedly all the while. To Sam it was a beautiful racket.  
He looked closely at his battered brother—pulling up the blankets that he'd somehow kicked off during the night. All things considered—he looked reasonably well.  
At this precise moment—it was all good. Tomorrow didn't matter.  
Sam stepped out and set about his task.

The copse of trees surrounding the cabin provided plenty of dry kindling. Sam gathered several armloads, stacking them by the cabin door. He explored around the building and discovered a stack of old firewood piled neatly along the stone foundation. Most of it was pretty punky, but there were a few rounds that would provide some heat, and he flicked the slugs off and carried them back, adding them to his collection.  
Wandering down to the stream, he found a dry spot to sit. It was very peaceful—  
pleasant—but he couldn't stop his mind from treading more serious paths.

Dean was a fugitive, but it wasn't a recent condition. It was just more urgent and current at the moment—he was now going to be seen as some dangerous threat to society—no doubt his picture would be on television and in print.  
As for himself-he wasn't sure of his status. It depended partly on Ellen's success at deflecting police scrutiny.  
If Ash's olive oil pistol theory worked—there really was no evidence that they had anything to do with Dean's escape. It all went so fast—they didn't encounter any significant people during the process. Sam should be able to melt back into the American backdrop as before.  
--And Ellen was a shrewd individual—she and Ash should be able to remain relatively unscathed.

But Dean….that was getting tricky. The mid-west had now become dangerous—maybe the whole country as well. They should think about getting out of the US for a while—maybe Canada. --Or Mexico. --the Caribbean. Well—scratch the latter—that involved flight. Dean would consider anything as long as he could drive there.  
And for Dean –everything revolved around that Impala. To him—it meant home, family, nostalgia, solidity, comfort. But Sam knew it was also a target at this point. At the very least—he should consider painting it a different colour.  
_Oh yeah--That'll go over well, _he thought.

The whole "Big Picture" overwhelmed Sam.  
With Dean's injuries—it had been moment by moment for so long, it was hard to stretch the mind to encompass any time frame beyond the next 24 hours.  
Sam filed the problem away for the short term.  
Heat—that was the priority of the moment. Dean seemed to be doing ok—he was certainly happy --but the chill could be a threat to his continued recovery. The doc had said that pneumonia was something to watch for.  
He picked up a stone and tossed it up stream-watching it skip along the surface until it disappeared beneath the water. Sighing, he got up and headed back to the cabin.

Ellen was up early too. Sleep had eluded her for most of the night. She waited impatiently for the coffee to finish brewing.  
Sam had promised to call. She was glad to hear news of their safe arrival at the cabin last night, but there was much more to work out. Sam was all one-word answers in the last call—he was close to dropping from exhaustion. But Ellen worried about Dean—it had been a rough process—this escape—and she was desperate to hear that he was still mending well.  
She also expected to see the police at any moment. There were going to be some hard questions—she felt that she could answer them to the satisfaction of all , but still—it made her feel weak with anxiety—and Ellen was unaccustomed to feeling weak.  
She wanted to drive to the cabin—see for herself that all was well..  
She missed Jo. And she chided herself for adopting these particular boys—for heavens sake—if she was so desperate to fill the empty nest—she should have gotten a _puppy. _  
Then all she'd have had to worry about was keeping the bowl filled and taking it out for a daily walk…..  
But she smiled despite herself. They were good people, these Winchester boys. _Difficult—complicated, --vexing_—but good. She poured her coffee and settled down with it.

--

Sam opened the cabin door and carried in his firewood, dropping the bundle beside the stove. He glanced at Dean, --still snoring—and rummaged around for the matches he'd used last night on the gas lamps. He found them on the floor, and set up the kindling and a larger piece or two in the grate. He put the match to it and in a moment the warmth began to permeate the cabin.

Dean was deep in sleep—still recharging after the adventure. He had lost his blankets again. Sam shook his head and pulled them over him. He didn't know how he could sleep without them—the chill in the cabin was only now receding.

_Tea_—that's what he needed. Sam hunted through the cupboards and found a kettle, and filling it with water from the hand-pump on the counter, he set it on the woodstove. Rustic, all right.  
He filled another couple of pots with water and got those warming on the stove as well. The well water was pretty damn icy—he wasn't about to wash up with _that.  
_The fire was starting to toast, and he got up and added another chunk of wood. He thought he'd check out the facilities. The toilet was a chemical thing—bit smelly, but better than hiking to a spidery outhouse. The sink apparently required water to be fetched from the kitchen, --no taps, but a drain. The tub was the same. A real pioneer experience,--might have been charming under different circumstances.

Dean was making noises, so he pulled up a stool and sat beside his bunk.  
"—Dean….'Morning….Hey Dean—" he said softly.

Dean groaned and opened one eye. He yawned and pulled his blanket closer to his chin.  
"--hey Sammy.--" he whispered with a smile.

"how are you doing?" Sam asked. "are you warm enough?"

Dean nodded.  
"…Getting there. Pretty cold last night. My right hand is a block of freakin' _ice.."_

Sam examined the cast where they had hit it on the door frame. It had cracked half way around the elbow joint, giving Dean some movement at that point. It wasn't a problem—it was the shoulder that needed to be held still. He wondered if he should remove the last section or duct tape the crack.

Dean had his own ideas.  
"Yeah _way to go_--you guys really did a number on it. That, and my _head--! _What if we take it off and put the original thing with the snaps back on?-It'd be easier to dress, and warmer…"

Sam's first reaction was to resist- but it actually made sense. The arm restraint was designed for this particular injury—it didn't work last time because circumstances were such that it was taken off too early. If they put it back on and kept it on, it could still do its job..  
Sam gave in.  
"Yeah-I think that's probably a good idea—since we cracked it anyway. We'll have to sort of soak it off, though..--don't have anything to cut through it that won't open you up too."

"—yeah—I had enough of _that _already…."

Sam checked his brother's sutures. Last night's rough handling hadn't caused too much damage—just the one incision. The bruise was colouring very nicely.  
"Anything hurt, Dean?"

" Just my body." He added- "Don't suppose you rescued any painkillers along with me…?"

"Sorry. We were in a bit of a hurry…. Want some tea?"  
The kettle was whistling—Sam found some teabags in Ellen's provisions and he put a couple into it.

"--no coffee--?" .

" You're pretty picky for a fugitive. --And don't forget -you _said _I could smack you if you got whiny."

Dean struggled to sit up, gritting his teeth and groaning at the pain of the effort.

"Here—wait a minute—" admonished Sam. He lifted him up and jammed some pillows behind him. "--Better?"

He nodded, with a shudder.  
They weren't big incisions but they felt like they went all the way through him—they must have used a _pitch fork._ He was starting to miss his IV—nurses always seemed to show up at just the right time and stick something comforting into it.  
He settled back against the stack of pillows and shut his eyes for a moment.  
Sam poured him a cup and put it into his hands, with his usual question.-  
"You alright, Dean..?"

He carefully measured his answer.  
"Sam.--I am not in a hospital, --and I'm not in jail. –Wouldn't matter to me if I was dropping body parts all over the floor right now."

"-Yeah, I know Dean. But you are still fresh from surgery-- excuse me—_surgeries_—and now you're here, after a rough ride, --without any antibiotics or pain killers-- in a cold cabin, wrapped in blankets that stink like dust and mouse shit.—"

"shut-up, Sam—you're ruining the magic.."

Sam retrieved the first aid kit and found some codeine tablets.  
"Here, stupid—take these with your tea."

Dean swallowed a few without hesitation. He finished his tea and put his head back on the pillows "--ok, to be honest, --yeah—it is starting to hurt a bit.".

Sam handed him a sandwich that Ellen had prepared.  
"Just give me an update every now and then,--ok? I don't need to be surprised by waking up to a _stiff _for a brother. _--a pain-in-the-ass_ I can handle…"  
He finished his own breakfast and went out to collect some more firewood.

Dean took a moment to take stock of his situation. He was glad—_ecstatic_—to be out on his own again.  
But he was a little scared of being without the safety net of medical support, -at least at the moment. Things that had been kept artificially bearable were now starting to wake up and educate him as to what it _really _felt like to be worked over by some scalpel-happy surgeons.  
It hurt a lot more than he expected. He vowed not to worry Sam.

Sam came in loaded with more wood. The pot of water was steaming, so he took it off and brought it to Dean's bunk, along with soap, towels and the med kit. He had a serrated knife that would probably work on the cast if it was softened enough.  
"You're sure you want to switch..?" he asked Dean

Dean opened his eyes and nodded.

"—ok—then lie flat—" he ordered, pulling the pillows free.  
Sam started off by tending to the sutures while Dean squirmed. When he was satisfied they were clean, he draped a towel over Dean's middle and started soaking the cast with the remaining hot water, sawing with the knife as it softened. Dean stayed still with eyes shut. He couldn't wait to get the damn thing off.

The broken forearm section was the first to be discarded, since it was already halfway through. Sam separated it from the rest and slipped it off over his hand.  
"—_oooh_ yeah--" Dean sighed, trying to reach over and scratch his itchy skin. Sam slapped his hand and he pulled back—remembering he had promised to lie still.  
Sam continued softening and tearing until he had the whole thing open over the shoulder and across the chest.

"Don't move!" he barked, getting up to retrieve another pot of steaming water from the woodstove. He remembered he had to get the restraint from the trunk—better warm it up before trying to get it on him. Dean lay dutifully still, having actually learned from his past mistake. The water and sodden plaster were going cold and he shivered. He was looking forward to being able to throw on his ubiquitous tee and shirt again.

Sam returned and sat down.  
"Ok—how should we do this?"

""hold my arm down and pull the whole works off from the other side.."

Sam did so and in a moment it was off. Dean grimaced as the roughened edge scraped across his back. "All good—" he assured Sam.

He lay embarrassed as Sam bathed him, although it felt damn good.  
"Hurry up—I'm freezing here—"

Sam helped him sit up while keeping the shoulder immobile, washing and drying his back, and laying him back down. The scar there seemed to be healing. He'd have to pull those stitches in a few days. Dean looked a little stressed.

Sam asked, "Codeine help at all?"

"--ask me in a little while—"

Sam frowned and selected a tee shirt and grey zippered hoodie.  
"Tee shirt first or not?"

"whatever you think…"

He decided the restraint should go on first, otherwise he didn't know how he'd get the shirt on with out possibly jarring things too much. He leaned Dean forward again, pulling the thing around him and securing it all. He snipped the side seam of a tee shirt, leaving the shoulder seam intact, and pulled it over Dean's head, pinning the seam again once it was on. He added a long-sleeved shirt and the hoodie, and lay him back down.

"Better?"

"Yeah—thanks Sam." The process had exhausted him, and Sam tucked the blankets around him..

" --any more of those painkillers left..?"

"Too soon-" Sam advised. " In a little while. " But the tension on Dean's features made him relent, and he dispensed a few more.

The adrenalin and euphoria of yesterday had faded. The reality of their situation made both of them serious and silent. Dean drifted off, and Sam checked the time, making sure it wasn't too early to call Ellen. He sat on his own bunk and dialed. She answered instantly.

_Everything ok??_

"We're fine, Ellen, thanks for all the stuff. How are you guys?

_Ash is still sleeping. I expect the police anytime. I'm just waiting to get that over with, then I'll feel better…_

"Wish you didn't have to go through that…God--we're so, _so _in your debt, Ellen."

_Damn right you are…! How is he, Sam?--And you--?"_

"I'm fine—tired. Dean is …ok--we took the cast off this morning and put that first thing back on. More practical, and we cracked the plaster last night anyway.  
He's feeling it pretty hard though.—sleeping at the moment. I gave him codeine."

_Mmm…when we can safely come out I'll bring something stronger.--Oh!—hang on—Cops are here--_

She hung up. Sam's stomach knotted with worry for her.

--

Ellen let them in with a quizzical smile.

"What can I do for you officers this early?" she asked innocently.

"Are you Ellen Harvelle?" She nodded.  
"Ma'am, we have a search warrant for the premises—"

"What on earth for?" she asked. "Are we in some sort of danger—or trouble--?"

" We have reason to believe that the fugitive Dean Winchester may be hiding in the building."

"Oh my goodness—I certainly hope not!" She said with mock concern. "By all means—look around. I have a boarder—I'll ask if he's seen anything…"

"We'll do that, Ma'am—if you would care to get him up"

"Of course." She was incredibly accommodating --_ she hoped she didn't have an aneurism…  
._."Ash! Wake up, boy. These good officers have some questions—"

She and Ash had spent time last night making _absolutely _sure that there was no trace of the brothers ever having been there—and they were sticking to their story that Gordon had come gunning for the roadhouse and the Winchesters were caught in the crossfire.

Once the policemen had completed their search—she and Ash answered their questions accordingly. She wasn't sure how well they were convinced—but if there were no official warrants for herself and Ash—then she didn't give damn what they thought. So she considered the matter closed, and hoped they would come to do so as well.  
At last they left, and she let out a shaky sigh of relief. Didn't matter that it was still morning—she dug out the brandy and fortified her coffee.

"What do you think—Ash—did we pass--?"

"—So far so good," he shrugged. –"now can I go back to bed?!"

"Go ahead—you've earned it."

Ellen drained her coffee and gave Sam a call. When she had finished her description of the morning visit—he was much relieved that it went that way. He'd been fully expecting to hear that they'd been hauled in to the station.

--

Ellen said they would come out in the afternoon, but she and Ash would head into town first. Sam thanked her again and hung up.

He sat down for a minute, letting the relief wash over him. At least _they_ had a decent chance of coming through this little escapade unharmed.

Glancing at Dean—he was glad to see him sleeping peacefully.  
That alone made it all worth it.


	13. Chapter 13

_13_

As he waited for the others to arrive, Sam went on a serious firewood foray. He collected loads and loads of dry sticks and branches, and dragged whatever larger dead wood he could find back to the cabin. He searched around the cabin perimeter again, taking a second look at what remained of the stack of old rounds, and selecting a few more that weren't too spongy and might still throw some heat. It was all softwood—it burned hot but also very fast. Sam figured he'd be spending a good part of the days feeding that hungry woodstove.  
Had to keep the damp and chill out of the room for the patient's sake.

When he was satisfied there was enough, he returned to the cabin and put on the kettle again.

He checked on his brother, who still slept.  
Dean was a bit fretful--making noises,--frowning.  
Sam hoped it was just dreams that disturbed him. He was relieved that Ellen would be bringing something stronger.—the codeine didn't seem to be enough.  
But he reminded himself that it was just the start of the healing process, and the hurt would fade soon. He hardly felt his own wound at all.

He stoked the fire to roaring again, had his tea and lay down for a quick cat-nap while he had the chance. Ellen was going to pick up supplies before heading out—that would add at least a couple of hours to their arrival time. Pulling up his covers, he curled up and closed his eyes. He fell asleep with his mind wandering in the sun along a sugar-white beach in Mexico..

Sam awoke with a start—  
The fire had died down and fingers of cold were creeping in again. The cabin was gloomy—the trees shadowed it by the late afternoon. He got up and coaxed the fire back to life, and lit the lamps.—wondering how long it would take Ellen to arrive.

He was annoyed that it was so chilly –it was only early fall, and they should have been in a beautiful Indian summer. Maybe they had gotten spoiled by the unusually warm late summer weather. But the cabin heated as quickly as it cooled and in no time it was decently warm again.

Dean still slept. He wondered if he should wake him to get him to eat something. And "natures call" must be a _yell_ by now--

He put some soup on to heat—deciding to wake Dean when the others came in. He looked a bit shivery—Sam pulled off another of his own blankets and added it to the others.

Sam heard the sound of tires crunching over sticks and gravel. He peeked out a window—just to make sure it was his expected visitors and not someone less welcome.  
Thankfully it was .  
They parked behind the impala and Ellen and Ash piled out, -hands filled with bags of groceries and other provisions.  
Sam opened the door and took the things from them so they could return to the car to get more. Several trips and they were all in the cabin—Ellen embracing Sam with a worried expression.

"Yeah—'bout as I remember it.." said Ash, looking around the place. How're you doing for wood?"

Sam filled the kettle and put it on.  
" I picked up a bunch of stuff this afternoon. Burns great—it just doesn't last very long…"

"Have a look in the trunk later," said Ash. " I loaded a bunch of good dry hardwood. That'll keep you roasting for a while."

"_Dr. Badass_ saves the day…..thanks—that'll be great for the nights.." Sam appreciated the thoughtfulness.  
The soup was starting to steam—he took it off the heat.  
Ellen was sitting on the stool beside Dean—checking him over.

"Well _that_ looks a lot more comfortable.." she said, looking at the replacement for the cast.  
"How long has he been sleeping?"

" Hours. --Since this morning, when we took off the cast. I was going to wake him when you got here. -- "

The kettle was whistling—Ash took it off and made the tea.

"Maybe _you_ should be the one to wake him, Ellen. He'll probably try to throw a punch at me—"

Ellen did her best to rouse him. She patted his damp face…  
"Dean….Dean…hey sleepyhead—you have company. Sam has some nice soup here for you…"

He complained and pulled the covers over his head.

" Don't do that—you're already overheating as it is. Come on now, Dean. --Time to be social—"

"Ok, --ok—" he sighed. Ellen helped him raise himself while Sam stuffed the pillows behind him again.

Dean rubbed his eyes—his sweaty hair sticking up all over the place.  
" Hi Ellen—hey Ash…" he said, hoarsely.

"You were pretty tired, I'll bet --Here, have some soup…"

"—thanks--could you just put it over there? Sam—wanna give me a hand here..?!"

Sam knew what he needed and he and Ash got him up and took care of it. By the time they got him back under the covers he was shivering violently, his damp clothing cooling him. Ellen offered to help him change into something drier but he declined. He didn't want to see anymore of his favourite shirts cut up. She pulled off a layer or two of blanket.  
"Does it get so cold in here? " she asked Sam.

"It _was_ when we got here last night. --Could see your breath. I got firewood in the morning and the place heated right up, --but with the pine stuff, it just burns so fast. .and it cools right off again.  
So I threw some extra blankets on him…"

Ellen handed the soup to Dean.  
" Here, eat this while it's still warm—that'll fix you up. You really should put a dry shirt on…"

He took the soup and drained the cup. " Any thing else to drink Sam? I'm parched…"

"Tea's coming."

Dean made a face. "Man--I'm getting a coffee withdrawal headache…"

"Figured you might, "said Ellen. She got up and went to the car, returning with a thermos full of hot arabica.

"--_Marry_ me, Ellen--" Dean sighed as she poured him a mugful.

"Huh-!" she snorted—" wouldn't _that_ be the May/December from_ hell_--! Besides, hon—I _learn_ from my mistakes."

Dean sat back, regarding the visitors. He didn't quite know how to phrase his gratitude.  
He scratched his head and cleared his throat –  
"—uh—about last night…You guys--wow--you saved my ass…it was really risky,--you shouldn't have tried it….._man--_I don't know what to _say_…"

"Never mind. " Ellen cut him short. "I wasn't about to let my taxes pay for your butt sitting around watching TV all day in the federal pen. Besides, we need you out here on our side." She was her hard-ass prickly old self.

He smiled--appreciating that he was being let off the hook.  
He was still tired, and his lungs felt restricted--the shoulder restraint was adjusted too tightly across his chest. He'd get Sam to loosen it a little later.  
Ellen could see the strain on his face—she wanted him to rest, but there were important decisions to be made.

" Boys—we're going to have to figure out what you plan to do long-term. Obviously you can't stay here much longer. I'm afraid Dean's face was all over the news and in the papers. The police have officially backed off the roadhouse for now—but I'm not stupid enough to believe that they aren't watching to see if you turn up there. Have you thought about where you'll go?"

Sam was dreading this discussion—mainly because he hadn't been able to formulate anything that felt right yet. But he was pretty sure that the states—at least this part of it-- were getting too hot for them at the moment.  
He relayed those thoughts to the others.

" I vote Mexico" said Ash, with an _up-to-no-good_ grin. "Better than up north—do you _know _how freakin cold it gets there..??"

Dean was feeling dozy, having trouble concentrating on the discussion. He was on the verge of sleeping again, despite the caffeine infusion.

"Then there's the car issue. We're a big black bullseye—I was thinking maybe we should…uh… paint it something _different_…" Sam ventured—bracing for his brother's reaction.

_That _abruptly snapped Dean to wakefulness.  
"That car's a _classic_!—you don't just go paint it some pansy colour,--are you _nuts_??"

"_Fine_ Dean—why don't you just drive your shiny black _classic_ right through the gates of the nearest prison, then--? " Sam retorted. " Because that car's a target—the whole state will be on the lookout for it. What do _you_ suggest??"

Unfortunately he had no answer, and all he could do was stubbornly resist. "Nobody is painting my car--!"

"Well, Sam's point is a good one." Ellen advised. "You _are_ a target in that car. My suggestion is that you talk to Bobby when he gets back. I imagine he has something he could loan you for a time. It certainly won't be as beautiful or classic as the Impala but whatever he can get you _will_ fly under the radar. --plus he could store your car—no one will see it in that sea of wrecks he keeps now. "

Sam brightened at the idea.

Dean glowered. "I guess…" he relented miserably. –_Damn!_ Last thing he wanted was to drive around in one of Bobby's crappy old beaters.

Ellen refilled his coffee, and produced a bottle of painkillers..  
" These are very strong. –much better than just codeine. Don't take more than it recommends. She handed them to Sam but Dean motioned for them, and she dispensed a couple for him.

"Hurts …?" She asked gently. He closed his eyes and nodded as he swallowed them.

"Ash—why don't you help Sam unload that wood..? It would be good to get that in before dark…"  
He nodded and the two of them stepped outside for a moment.

Ellen turned to Dean. "Now, --_you.. _No bullshit. How are you feeling.?"

Dean knew she would interrogate him eventually. He also knew she could see right through his usual crap.  
"I'm just tired at the moment, Ellen. And yeah—it _does_ hurt. A _lot._ I figured it would fade some but it hasn't—yet. It's kinda wearing me out --and now I have this cramp in my side that's really pissing me off.—I can't stretch to make it go away.  
--see, and here you made me get all whiny—"

"That's not _whining, _Dean. You need to tell us these things. I know you want to protect your brother by being stoic, but you do him no favour by hiding it. You're not at the hospital anymore—if anything becomes an issue, -he needs to know about it. Is that clear?"  
He nodded, -defeated.

"--And you will need to travel very soon, " she continued- " so this is the time to stay on top of things.-, or you won't last the journey. Have you thought about where to go for the next while?"

"uh--not really…"

"Well Sam is right—it's dangerous for you to stay in this part of the states, --at the very least you should head south for a while. Go somewhere that has a lot of tourism—where you can blend in. Florida, for instance. Or even Mexico.--If you stay around these places where everybody's a cousin, you stick out like a sore thumb. .."

She regretted wearing him down with this talk. His face was growing taut with the strain.  
"You still have a few days to make your plans, Dean. I just want you two to think along those lines while you're not under the gun. _Damnit, _I wish you could stay with us—but you'd be walking right into your capture, I guarantee it. "

He closed his eyes , shivering.  
"Yeah—Florida sounds pretty good right now…"

Ash and Sam had figured Ellen was done grilling Dean by now, --they came in and out with arms loaded with wood until there was a good stack of it ready.

"When _does_ Bobby get back? Sam asked.

Ash answered. "Either tonight or tomorrow morning, depending on whether he picked up any stuff. I can call him later—see what he might have that you could borrow.."

Ellen motioned Dean to raise his shirt so she could satisfy herself that he was healing properly..

He did, --asking, "could you loosen the straps on this thing a bit—it's too tight. I can't breathe properly.."  
She checked it.

"Dean—this is not too tight,--I can fit my hand under it. If we loosen it more it won't hold your arm still enough.

"….Oh. –guess I'm just a little claustrophobic…" Then he remembered—" At least your hand is_ human _temperature this time –I still owe you for that icy claw of death you stuck on me the other night—!"

She laughed. "Yep—you screamed like a little girl—"

Ash and Sam heard that and chortled at his expense.

He laughed too, enough to make him cough.  
"—_ow_—don't make me do that—"

But she was suddenly serious. "When did _that _start?"

"--What?"

"That cough."

"Ellen—I don't _have _a cough, I just _coughed_. There's a difference--"

--"well--ok—but that's exactly what I'm talking about. You tell Sam if you feel anything troublesome—"

He rolled his eyes at her, nodding with exaggerated solemnity.

Ellen got up and began to empty several of the bags she'd brought in. She had spent some considerable time and effort preparing some good meals for the brothers—knowing from Ash's descriptions that the cooking facilities in the cabin were rudimentary at best. She had a delicious smelling stew prepared and she set the pot on the wood stove to heat. It was well into the evening by now—she knew everyone would be starving.  
Ash threw some more good hardwood into the stove and it pumped out heat with comforting consistency.  
She took the time to have a similar conversation with Sam while the two of them prepared the meal. He echoed Dean's feeling that Florida had promise. It would be a long drive, but she felt better knowing that there was a safer destination in mind.

When everything was sufficiently warm, they tucked into it hungrily. Dean was a bit of a tough sell, as he was so exhausted that he would rather have slept than eaten. Naturally _Iron Ellen_ persuaded him otherwise. When she was satisfied that he had taken in enough nourishment and liquids, she left him to his slumber.

Ash was regaling Sam with stories of his days at MIT. Sam still sorely missed his academic experience—still held out hope that once "_this"_ was all finished—he could return to the normal life he pined for.

Instructing Sam on the other meals she 'd prepared, Ellen gathered the dishes and put them in the sink, pouring a pot of hot water over them. "Just leave them, Ellen—" Sam said. "I won't have anything to do later anyway with Dean asleep again."

Ellen gave in. They had to get going anyway—the roadhouse was closed at the moment but people would be arriving soon and she wanted everything to return to normal routine as soon as possible.  
She scrutinized him, satisfied he wasn't wearing himself out.—then looked over the sleeping patient.—noting with a frown the rosy hue over his cheek bones. But he, too, seemed comfortable.  
" Take care, Sam Winchester—" she ordered, embracing him "Of both of you. And make sure you call us tomorrow morning. Ash saluted him.

" I will. And thanks--again"

She smiled wryly at him and they headed out.

With his friends gone, Sam was enveloped by the quiet of the cabin The stove was belching out heat—it made him feel sleepy. He didn't think he'd be up much longer, and he set about cleaning the dishes while the water was still good and hot.

That task done—he sat on his bunk with the stack of newspapers they'd brought. Sure enough—Dean's face was front page along with an unflattering description of his supposed activities of late. He scanned the articles for mention of his own name—but nothing referred to him –at least not in the "wanted" sense.

Dean _snorked_ and frowned—mumbling nonsense about a girl sitting on his chest.. Sam shook his head with a smile.  
He read more, and growing tired, dropped the paper, rising to snuff the lamps. He glanced at his brother, who was quiet again, and curled up, --pulling the blankets to his chin.  
Despite the current predicament—he felt content,--and drifted off.

--??  
Sam found himself awake,--not knowing what had roused him.  
He checked his watch—4:20 am--too early for the bird chorus..  
--he lay with his eyes open in the dark--listening…

Dean sounded like he was channeling spirits again, tossing and turning. His sounds varied between snoring and muttering. _Dreams._

He kept listening., hoping he'd settle again. But Sam began to think the snoring sounded laboured, and was more akin to wheezing,-- and he got up and lit the nearest lamp so he could check on his brother.  
The cabin was still sufficiently warm, thanks to Ash's contribution. Sam gave his gritty eyes a rub, pulling the stool closer to the other bunk.

He peered at Dean's face, wearily.

Dean's skin glistened by the weak lamplight. Little rivulets of sweat ran into his hair. His face was flushed.  
Alarmed, -Sam put his hand to his forehead.  
It was burning hot.

Dean opened his eyes.

"Dean—are you too hot?" he asked. "--Something hurting?"  
Sam's worry increased,-- fearing now that Dean's excessive warmth was more than just too many bedcovers.  
Dean didn't answer—he just looked away and mumbled.

He tried again..  
"Dean…hey Dean--you ok--?"

His eyes were bright with fever, and he turned and looked directly at Sam.  
_"--dad--?"_

Shocked, Sam thought _–He doesn't see me--he's looking right through me--  
_Dean's breathing had become rapid and shallow. He was clearly in some distress.

"--too tight--" he was muttering, clawing at the neck of his shirt and the restraint underneath.

Sam put his hands on his shoulders, trying gently to quiet him.  
"what's too tight, Dean--what's the matter--?"  
But Dean wasn't hearing him..

"--dad--help me...can't breathe—"

_This was no dream._  
Sam's heart skipped in sudden fear—he pulled the covers off and carefully pulled Dean up and leaned him against his own chest. It was like handling a ragdoll--he offered no resistance, and his clothes were soaked with sweat.  
Sam could feel his chest labouring, and he checked the tightness of the restraint just in case—but there was nothing wrong there—it was plenty loose.

"Dean…..can you hear me--?" he asked—holding him in the sitting position-trying to make eye contact--  
Dean didn't acknowledge that he had heard—or even that he knew Sam was there. He was lost in some other world.  
He started to tremble, --Sam could feel it increase as his damp body cooled in the night air. He could hear the congestion, and he berated himself for not seeing this coming. The doctor had warned them of the risk, -even in the safety of the hospital  
-And it had been so damn rough and cold here in the cabin. The word filled him with dread--

_...Pneumonia_

Sam pulled off the wet shirt and wrapped a blanket around his brother, laying him back down. He rubbed his hand over his own face and through his hair, trying to quell his panic.

He had to call Ellen.

When Ellen answered, she knew what was coming. Nothing good ever came of a 4 am phone call.  
She listened to Sam's frightened description, and advised him to get his brother into the car immediately and make his way to the roadhouse.

"I know someone who can help- " she said. hesitantly. "Wrap him well, Sam--and get here as fast as you can—but don't draw any attention"

He hung up and she sat for a moment in the quiet dark. _I should have known--  
_She remembered all the indicators the evening before,--all so easily dismissed at the time. _--Why the hell didn't I see he was sick??_  
She turned on the light and searched for her jacket—praying that the little slip of paper was still there.  
It was, and she nervously dialed the number.

A groggy voice answered after several rings.  
"_David Bowman…"_

Ellen swallowed her hesitation.

"—Dr. Bowman. --It's Ellen Harvelle. You….you gave me your number…in the parking lot…."

He was instantly alert.  
_"What's wrong Ellen--?"_

She explained their crisis.

_"--Damn! Right--I'll meet you there in 45 minutes " he said. " Keep him warm.."_

"—thank-you—" she said, her voice breaking.

She took a deep breath and got a grip on her emotions. Sam would get here just ahead of the doctor. She got dressed, went downstairs and turned up the thermostat and lights. She busied herself with making coffee.

Ash wandered out of his room—bleary eyed, with a questioning look. "--Cops again--?"

"No. Something's wrong with Dean—" she said. She looked stricken--"They're on their way now. ……. I—I called _the_ _number_, Ash…"

"_Shit,_ man. " Ash groaned. "That guy must be _cursed _or something." He headed to his room to dress , reassuring her- " You_ had _to call him, Ellen...best thing you could do.."

--


	14. Chapter 14

14

Sam felt stronger knowing that help would be waiting for Dean. It was great risk to go to the roadhouse, but at least it was at night. And this place—although a good location for someone wanting to lay low—was just too primitive for Dean's current state.  
He gathered his thoughts: -he should start the car—get it warm, and make sure the back was clear.  
He did so, and then put his mind to the next operation.—getting Dean into the back seat without causing any further trauma.  
He knew it was important to shield Dean from the drafts and chill of the night air. The blanket was still well wrapped around him—Sam pulled it closer around his brother's face, and dragged his limp form closer to the edge of the bed. Slipping his hands under,- he gathered him up, struggled to stand with his burden, and made his way out to the car.

The cool night air brought Dean some lucidity, and he tried to comprehend what was happening.  
"...sam…? Where are we going _now_?? --"

"Ellen's. You're sick, Dean—They're gonna help you there—"

"--I'm not sick--" he rasped, - " I'm just--" -- but his lungs rebelled against the chilly night air and he was wracked by a spate of wheezy coughing—eyes squeezed tight against the pain it brought.

Sam got him settled into the back seat, apologizing for the discomfort he caused.

Dean's face screwed up in a grimace, as he continued his squeaky coughing, eyes watering --trying to catch his breath. -- _ok—maybe a little sick…_

Sam backed carefully through the pitch black of the wooded lane, pausing briefly at the road edge to ensure the coast was clear. Then he drove as quickly as he dared toward the roadhouse.

Ellen paced anxiously, silently berating god for dropping the ball with regard to this whole thing.  
Ash was right—that boy had _no_ luck at all. Apparently they had not _yet _exhausted all possible complications.—she half-expected the police to arrive alongside the others.

She was relieved when the first car drove over the gravel--_no flashing lights_.  
Ash went out to aid Sam in extricating his brother from the car. Ellen ushered them to the room Dean had occupied earlier, where she'd prepared the bed to receive him.

He groaned as he was set down, as the damp blanket was pulled from around him.  
She tucked the fresh bed covers around his chin as he shivered.

"--sorry Ellen--" he whispered.

" Sssh—save your voice for the doctor—"

"--you called a doctor?--he asked fearfully. "--he'll turn me—

"No he won't—now be still." She dried his sweating face with a warm wash cloth.

"Boys—can you keep an eye out for any cars--?"

Dean's chest burned and he tried desperately to keep the cough from starting again—it wracked his body with biting pain each time.  
He felt like an unlucky rat being squeezed relentlessly in the coils of a python—it was getting harder and harder to pull in enough oxygen.—and his tenuous grip on consciousness was failing.

His vision swam, and he slipped away as they waited for their help to arrive..

Finally—they heard the doctor's truck crunch to a stop in front of the roadhouse, and in a moment he knocked and was brought in.  
Sam greeted him solemnly--" Thanks for coming, Dr Bowman"--and brought him into the room.  
"It's _David_—" he corrected.

_David_ knelt beside his former patient and tried gently to wake him. He could see that Dean was responding--trying to surface, --but the fever prevented him from breaking through. Dean rolled his head from side to side and murmured. There was a slight bluish tint to his lips  
Checking his temperature--the doc whistled when he noted its extreme.  
"You've got _something _going on, all right.—"  
He listened to his chest, his heart—checked blood pressure. He checked the condition of the incisions.  
He gave him an injection of something to help break the fever.

Standing up, David spoke sternly.-- "Lots of sounds in those lungs. His breathing capacity is seriously diminished. And that's a pretty high fever—we've got to bring that down.  
I suspect its pneumonia, as you no doubt guessed.  
--I know you believe you had valid reasons—but he should _never _have left that hospital. I mean, even under the best conditions this is still a threat to post-op patients. No question--he needs to be re-admitted _NOW._

They exchanged glances, filled with fear , a collectivehelplessness.

David continued--"Ok—that was Dr Bowman's advice --Now here's _David_ _Bowman's_. I'm guessing you don't _really_ want him back there at the moment—do you--?"

He was greeted by silence.

"--But he can't stay here—I read the papers, -they're going to be watching for him--And he _absolutely must _have intravenous antibiotics and hydration, and oxygen--or you may as well start digging right now.  
So, where does that leave us..?"

Ellen was nearly at her wits end—if he wasn't going to come to his point soon she was likely to leap up and throttle him….

"I propose we take him to my house. --Tonight. --_ Now._"

_That _certainly wasn't one of the options the others could have dreamed up….

Ellen broke out of her momentary stupor—shaking her head incredulously--" But --the risk to you, and your family--your license…….We're strangers to you--!"

He cut her short. " Ellen, I'm already in this up to my neck. If I didn't think our friend Dean here was worthy of it—you wouldn't have had my cell number. And I live alone—so I am not putting family in jeopardy.—any risks I choose to take are solely my own."

Sam looked at Ellen, thinking,—_I've heard that sentiment before…_

He continued—"So let's be practical here. Nobody will be searching for him at my place. I have access to everything he needs to return to a decent state of health, and your only other option is the hospital-- or a pine box. ..Your choice, my friends--"

They were all shocked by this unprecedented act of kindness.  
Ellen, at a loss--said- "Sam—what do you think--?"

Sam held his hands up in a helpless gesture--"I...what else can we do--?!"

A weak, raspy voice spoke up behind them—  
"--do I get a vote--?"

David turned to him.  
"Welcome back, Dean--and only if it's _yes_…."  
Dean was too beaten by illness to argue. He desperately wanted to feel better again—he figured this was probably his best chance.

"--it's _yes._ --Ellen's --cooking was-- gonna kill me anyway--" he threw her a weak attempt at a grin, punctuated by a fit of coughing.

She was too frazzled to appreciate his humour.  
"Boy—if you didn't have one foot in your grave, you'd have had a smack for that. --Well, let's get this done then. We'll take my car—you two get him wrapped up and carried out. We'll follow Dr Bowman.

"_David"_ he corrected. "--And Ellen-if you wouldn't mind—I'd appreciate if you came with me in the truck. I'd like to talk with you further about all this…"

Ash raised his eyebrows and smirked at Ellen. She glared at him in return.

Dean was unceremoniously bundled up and carried into yet another vehicle. That was an indignity he wouldn't miss in future… Sam climbed in as well, –Ash having been recruited to stay behind, to stash the impala out of sight, - just in case.  
Ellen sat, feeling more than a little awkward, in the truck.  
The exhausted little convoy headed into town.

Sam followed the truck. His mind was racing in a hundred directions. He was appreciative of the current turn of events—but it underscored the fact that he had absolutely _no _control over his present, and at the moment--his future.  
Mere hours ago he was content to be in the cabin for the next few days—patiently tending to his brother while he healed.  
--And before that—he was content having Dean in good hands at the hospital.  
Well, _that_ all went to hell.

And now here he was, - carting his ailing sibling back into the town from which they had just fled, to a stranger's house, no less, and with no choice but to trust that everything would work out.

He looked back at Dean. He was lying quietly—still running hot, but no longer delirious, --he was breathing rapidly, a pinched expression on his face.  
It unnerved Sam completely—witnessing his brother call out to their dad. He wondered how painfully deep that undercurrent still ran in his life. Sam missed his father too—but with the melancholy distance that time provides. For Dean—it was still raw—still open and bleeding. He hoped that his father's ghost would loosen his deathgrip on Dean's heart and mind someday.

Dean coughed, --wincing. He opened his eyes and caught Sam's expression.

"--sick, Sam.--not _dying_." he reminded.

Sam laughed—realizing he was busted.  
"sorry, Dean. --just thinking, here. Don't worry….."

Dean wanted to talk to Sam about this whole new plan he was in the middle of, but he had nothing left to devote to the effort of speech.  
But he was reminded of his earlier assessment of the doc—he really was a decent guy.  
He was taking a hell of a chance—it confused Dean.  
But he was in no shape to give it any analysis at the moment. He'd take it at face value and be thankful.

Dean was so _tired_--he felt the tether holding him to earth was worn dangerously thin.  
He could deal with the immediacy of physical pain—he'd been in that situation often enough. But this prolonged, relentless _weakness_—it eroded his spirit. He slipped away again amidst these thoughts.

Sam watched Dean in the rearview mirror—witnessed his brother's world-weary expression relax –his eyes closing. He didn't miss the few escaping tears.  
He fervently hoped that this, at last, would see Dean return to health and strength. It had been a bitterly endless string of misfortune.


	15. Chapter 15

15

Ellen sat on the passenger's side of the bench seat—shoulder against the door. She wasn't used to such close proximity to a stranger without a bar separating them. Especially one to whom she owed such a debt.

David could see her obvious discomfort.  
"Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Ellen. I just thought you could fill me in on some of the details here…  
She lied and said she was fine.

He chuckled. "_Right…" _  
But he _did_ want to learn more.  
" Tell me Ellen. What is this Missouri stuff really all about.?"

Ellen assessed him for a moment—deciding he was capable of handling_ some_ of their realities.  
She took a breath and waded in.  
"David…._god_--how can I put this--there is more to reality than your average, happily oblivious person could dream of…."

She didn't know why she was taking this route. It was deeply ingrained in every hunter to tread softly and hide the true nature of their endeavors. But David was risking enough that he deserved at least some measure of truth.

He looked at her quizzically.

"Dean and Sam Winchester—like their late father,--like my late husband, are _hunters."_

"Hunters—ok..."

"You don't understand what I mean by that—and if I had any sense I'd keep it that way.  
But-- you are a doctor. --you are obviously intelligent—so I want you to keep an open mind and suspend your natural disbelief…."

He had no idea where she was going with this, but she was obviously earnest. He tried to do as she requested.

"Ok….Here it is—"  
And she described the nature of the hunt—told of the quarry they chased—that most of the childhood fairy tales we dismiss as adults are terrifyingly true. She told him of demons, beasts, possession, spirits. ...Explained the circumstances of the events in St Louis….

When she was finished --she instantly regretted it—expecting him to step on the brakes and turf her out into the night as some raving lunatic hitch-hiker.. She was afraid to look at him. The burden of this knowledge was a constant wedge between her type, and the rest of blissfully clueless humanity.  
Finally she screwed up her courage and turned to face him.

He was staring straight ahead. His expression—was...stunned—his eyes were moist. She could see he was gripping the steering wheel hard.

_Oh God—now I've done it—I've completely freaked him out_—she thought…  
"--I didn't expect you to believe me—I'm sorry. I'm not _insane_. David—please—_please_ don't turn Dean out--" she begged.

David struggled to regain a voice.  
"--My wife--" he finally managed hoarsely.—but he was unable to elaborate.

"—Please David—Say _something_--!"

He drew a deep breath, and turned to her.  
She was shocked to see that his eyes were brimming.

"I'm --a widower, Ellen.  
I lost my wife six years ago. We were --on a camping trip.--Colorado—she loved the mountains.  
She--was taken—by _something_. A wolf—but not really—it was something worse, powerful—_evil_-- ...I thought I was crazy—I couldn't tell anyone exactly what I saw that night. They'd have put me in a psych ward—or-- arrested me for murder—who knows…."  
Tears slid freely down his face.  
"--for months afterward...I thought I was _insane._ --What I saw that night—what it did to my Catherine--it wasn't _natural--_my _god,_ Ellen--"

"—go on, " she said, softly.

He was silent for a moment.  
" Ellen—you are telling me that what happened—what I witnessed—_was real?! ..._All these years--I tried to make myself believe it happened the way I was forced to tell it-- You can't know what this means to me….."

_...Oh yes I can, _she thought.

"--and there are people out there--people who go after these--_things..?"_

"—Yes—" she said, simply.

He sat in stunned silence once more. Then, turning to her—  
"-thank-you--for trusting me enough to tell me this."

She said quietly—"David—are you going to take _me_ to the psych ward…?"

"—What-? _No—_no, of course not—" he laughed, wiping his eyes. " --I just--can't believe it was really _true--"_

Ellen was satisfied he believed.  
" David—this knowledge—it's a very heavy burden. People want the world to be simple and good. --That's why we keep what we do _so_ secret. But every now and then one of us runs afoul of the law in the process, and now you see why there is _no _way to explain our actions. Dean didn't kill anyone. But he _will _have to run from this for the rest of his life."

"--yes, ..Dean. --a hunter of evil _things_."  
He shook his head "His original injuries—the ones that started this whole thing-- --those were from hunting--?"

"Ah…yes—yes it was a hunt." Ellen thought the complete truth of _that_ situation didn't need to complicate matters right now.

"--David—will he be alright….? I've seen that boy through this from the beginning—he's made of _iron_,-that one. --But I get the sense that he's running on fumes now…"

" Ellen—I will do everything in my power to see him get well and stay safe. After what you've told me--I owe him that and more."

At last they turned into the driveway of a fine old brick house. David got out and opened the side door—making sure the lights stayed off.  
Sam pulled in beside him, shut the car off and got out.

"How'd he do during the drive?" Ellen asked, her face creased with concern.

"Slept, mostly." Sam said. "he's breathing really fast—and it seems to hurt him. I think he's really worn out. I haven't heard him bitch about anything for quite a while...it's not like him…"

David had gone in and cleared the way for Dean. He returned, and with Sam's help—they carried the unconscious patient into the house, depositing him on a guest bed. Dean didn't stir at the upheaval—just continued to struggle to breathe—frowning with each costly effort. Sam noticed that the quicks of his nails were turning bluish too. David saw it too, and Sam gave him a fearful look.

"He isn't getting enough oxygen—" David said, " There's too much fluid in there—not enough room to function properly…We'll get him settled-You can give me hand propping him up—it will ease it a little.."

Sam pulled his brother up and held him-reassuring him with quiet words while David collected pillows and stacked them behind his seemingly boneless form. It did seem to help somewhat.

"The next few hours could be tricky—" David warned. "Until I can go in to the hospital for my shift—we won't have access to the IV and meds he needs. If I came in early and started ordering these supplies—it would look strange, and we don't want to get anyone thinking…"

Sam was worried-- "What do you mean by _tricky--?"_

"—I mean he'll likely get worse before we can get him better, Sam.  
–I can give him another shot in a while to help keep the fever in check, but there's nothing I can do to ease his symptoms until I can get in. We need to watch him during that time in case he starts to really struggle."

"I won't be leaving him," Sam assured. He was exhausted but he didn't feel sleepy—his concern too strong to allow him that luxury..

"I know, Sam. I'll get you a comfortable chair. Anybody need coffee or tea--?"

There was a unanimous vote for coffee, and David went to brew some for the group.  
Sam looked wearily at Ellen,--it broke her heart to see him so lost.

"It _will _all work out, Sam—" she said comfortingly—"Dean will get well here—none of us would have it otherwise.."

He nodded and looked away. He hoped so. His own faith was wearing pretty thin.

David returned with a tray for Sam, loaded with coffee, and cheese, ham, crackers and some tempting looking pieces of dark chocolate.

"Thanks, doc—you must be psychic—" he said—holding the mug in both hands.

"Not a problem. Ellen—join me in the livingroom--?"

She nodded, gave Sam's hand a squeeze and followed him out.  
David had a similar spread for the two of them, and Ellen gratefully took her own mug. She was feeling the effects of the last sleepless and tense hours.. He produced a brandy decanter and she pushed her coffee forward to be augmented. He did the same to his own.

They sat in silence—each savouring the warmth.  
Ellen let her eyes wander around the room. It was decorated with a woman's touch--feminine, but not flowery. But there was also evidence of the bachelor—a few out of place sports mementos—a television of a size and placement no woman would have tolerated—some socks peeking out from beneath the couch and a good healthy layer of dust on the furniture.  
She smiled to herself.

There was a framed photo on the mantel. A woman—athletic looking,-with a self- assured expression.

"Catherine," David said, following her gaze.

"She looks like she was a vibrant person. You must miss her…"

He sighed. " I do. And you're right—she _was_ strong. Catherine was—confident, intelligent,--adventurous. --And _prickly_." he laughed. "She was a lot like you. Didn't suffer fools gladly."

She looked down—embarrassed by the comparison to one whom he had obviously been so fond of.

But he spared her.  
"Ellen, why do they _do_ it—these _hunters--? _I understand the need to rid your own particular world of threats and evils—but –why do they put themselves _continually _in the line of fire…?"

She thought about it. " Huh… that's a complicated question. A lot grew up with a father who hunted—it 's a natural progression. --And there is an obsession factor. All of these people are a slightly…._off balance_. ...Thrill—excitement—an overwhelming sense of righteousness.-- It's funny—it's not really a _religious_ thing—few of the hunters I've met do this for any god. If you were studying psychiatry, you could write one _hell_ of a doctorial thesis on it. --of course they'd never believe any of it."

"No—I guess _not_. They'd direct me to the faculty of literature. Or at least the _National Enquirer_"

It was going on 8 am.  
"When _is _your shift, David?"

"I'm expected at nine. I'll round up what I need and return as soon as I can. I need to cancel some appointments and get someone to cover. We'll get our hunter comfortable as soon as possible…"

"Well-" Ellen said " I will leave you to your morning routine—you _look_ like you've been up since four………and David—"

"Mmm?"

"--Thank you….for this--for _everything._ Those brothers are two halves of one. It would destroy Sam to lose Dean."

"Well—we just won't let that happen then—" he smiled. "Guess I should get my butt in gear.--are you staying, Ellen?"

" For as long as I'm needed. "

"I'll see you later then" And he headed off to start his day.

--

Dean drifted between two worlds, neither of which offered him any comfort.  
His unconscious state was plagued by dreams—dreams of drowning, of suffocation.  
And he relived in vivid detail, frightening vignettes of his recent experiences.  
--That miserable day in the woods, --and later, --the terrible moment he thought Sam was dead by Gordon's hands. He moaned and fought against that imagery, but it flooded through his mind relentlessly.

Wakefulness was worse. Each shallow breath was punctuated by sharp cramping pain in his chest.—and delivered distressingly little air.  
Sam watched helplessly as Dean compulsively twisted the edge of his blankets between his fingers.

His fever was spiking again.—and he was gripped by panic that he couldn't express verbally, -- but which was more than apparent in his eyes.. Ellen and Sam spoke to him gently, soothingly—to keep it at bay.

They tried what they could to give him some relief. Ellen massaged his chest and back and placed cooling cloths on his sweat soaked forehead. Sam held him sitting up and straight for periods of time—propped against his own chest,-- keeping him from slumping. The weak but wracking cough sapped precious energy he could ill-afford, leaving him exhausted, --eyes streaming.

They stayed in constant contact with David—who, thankfully, was on his way back with the supplies.

"--sam--please--" Dean panted during a period of lucidity—" --undo this--—take it off—please sammy--"

Sam did, --thinking he should have done so earlier, —and the removal of the shoulder restraint was a blessed relief. Dean didn't have the strength to move around much anyway, so the injury was in no danger. Breathing took precedence. Sam removed the restrictive knee brace as well, and the feeling of freedom alleviated some of his distress.

_It's 11:30--When the hell is he getting here?! _.Sam fretted.

Five minutes later David entered—carting the oxygen cylinder.  
He noted the level of difficulty Dean was experiencing, and he hastily set the cylinder in place.  
As soon as he positioned the mask over Dean's face, the relief was obvious. Dean relaxed visibly—now that the 

effort of breathing was actually delivering the oxygen his body craved.

Everyone shared in that relief.

Sam turned away for a moment, overcome with the emotions he'd been suppressing --the terrible helplessness, --the fear…washed away now that his brother was no longer struggling quite so hard.

Ellen let out a shaky sigh, as she dried Dean's eyes again.. She looked at David with wordless gratitude.

David set up the IV--then located a vein in Dean's arm and inserted the port., taping it secure.—and at last the powerful antibiotics could begin their work. _Poor bugger,_ he thought. _Too bad we had to cut it this close_--

He glanced at Ellen again. Her eyes were moist but her jaw was set.  
_Give the poor woman a hug before she drops_—he scolded himself.  
And he hesitantly embraced her—feeling like a clumsy idiot. In the back of his mind he was also aware that she probably had a _wicked_ right hook--  
But she didn't use it--she didn't resist. She relaxed and cried for a moment, and then pulled away, back in control—embarrassed.

"I promise I won't tell—" he said—with a teasing smile. She elbowed him in the ribs.

He turned to Sam. "Now,--_You,--_get some sleep. Upstairs--first room on the left…"

Sam refused of course.

"Look Sam—he'll be fine now that he's on oxygen. I'll stay and watch him for a while. Do yourself a favour and crash for a bit. If he wakes up and needs to see you—I'll get you up, ok?"

Sam relented. "Wish I could stay with him, doc—but yeah—I'm a zombie at the moment. --Thanks—first on the left--?"

"Yeah—sleep well—don't worry--I've got this shift."

He took one final look at his brother—who was lying quietly at last. Satisfied it was safe to go, he headed to bed.


	16. Chapter 16

16

Dean awoke . He was aware of his surroundings—remembering the place he'd been taken—and why. He was weak—but felt somewhat clear-headed for a change. He turned and met the eyes of Good Doctor David.

"Well—good morning, Dean Winchester. How are you feeling--?" he asked, removing the mask.

Dean was about to answer but his thoughts dissolved in a fit of coughing.  
Finally he managed—

"--sam--?"

"Sleeping, finally. 'Fraid you wore him out. --You know, he was ready to donate a lung to you.—probably a couple.-- Took some convincing before he was sure that wouldn't be necessary." David smiled.

Dean offered a little smile in return. He was glad Sam was resting,--he looked like crap.

David checked Dean over. His temp. was better—still a bit high but not critical. His chest still offered a symphony of sound—but he was no longer blue-tinged—the oxygen was alleviating his earlier distress.  
David examined the sutures and was pleased that they were all well on the way to healing. At this point his other injuries weren't problematic—he could safely concentrate his efforts on treating the lung infection.  
He didn't miss the fact that the hardware had been pulled off his patient yet again in his absence.  
Probably a good idea, he thought. When Dean proved stronger he'd strap him in again—he didn't want to risk a repeat of the earlier setback. He wanted to do some range-of-motion tests, but he would wait for a few days yet.

Dean was wracked by coughing again—stronger than before. It sounded awful—it took so much out of him—but it was a good sign. The more he could clear his airways the better. David always marveled at the power of the modern antibiotics—illnesses that proved fatal in devastating numbers fifty years ago could be turned around now in mere days.

When he could manage to speak—Dean had to ask—  
"--why--why did you help me--? You don't even know me--"

"Originally—I don't know,..exactly…something about the group of you struck me as….strangely noble. -- Never saw such loyalty. ..When you were arrested—I looked into your case. I couldn't believe it happened the way it read—it didn't fit.  
–And when you went missing from your room—I knew the others were ready to risk a hell of alot on your behalf.  
--So I gave Ellen my number in the parking lot, just in case.

She told me what really happened to you... And what you do. --Don't worry—I'm not a threat…. That knowledge gave me more reason to make sure you came through this.  
I won't explain it now, but Ellen knows why. Let's just say I have a vested interest…"

Dean tried to absorb this new information. --David knew—about himself—about hunters. And he seemed not only to believe it, but that there was a connection to his own life..

He endured another coughing fit, and David helped him through it by leaning him forward and gently pounding his back.

"You may not feel like it, Dean—but that deeper cough is proof that you are on the mend. This isn't going to be the thing that takes you out—so don't worry."

Dean wiped his eyes and nodded. He was tired again.

"Get some sleep, son.—" David advised. "When you're rested we'll get you some breakfast.."

"--thanks—" he said—eyes already heavy.

Within moments he drifted off.

Ellen was standing in the doorway. –God-he sounds like a sea-lion…She fervently hoped the illness would lose its grip soon.

She watched the doctor and his patient. She was sure now that Dean was in caring hands, and maybe—finally—things would turn around for him. She knew firsthand the battles hunters faced,--it was particularly significant to have a sympathetic doctor on board.

She chided herself for thinking so much about David. He was a recent addition to their lives—a very timely friend. She tried to convince herself that it was purely gratitude she felt.  
This was a new one for her. She was used to skillfully, and often unsubtly—keeping people at arms length. It was the safer position. She felt a little—foolish—her life was just fine the way it was. Lonely—but_ fine_—thankyou.

" David—I think I should head back now…"

He looked—_what_—disappointed?—slightly crestfallen--?

"--oh—sure—of course, Ellen. God—you must be exhausted yourself. Don't worry about things here—I think we have it under control…"

" I wouldn't leave unless I thought that too. -- But I have to get the prep underway for the roadhouse. If I leave it too long in the hands of my boarder—I'll come back to chaos."  
She paused for a moment—searching for words that belied her somewhat confused emotions.

" –I'll keep you informed. Thanks Ellen. It was--a pleasure--?" he shrugged helplessly.

"Yes—a pleasure meeting you, Doctor—" she said stiffly—hating the way it sounded.

He followed her to her car, opening the door for her. She sat, and started the engine.

"Thanks for everything, David"- she reiterated.

He nodded.  
And he nearly let her drive away.

" –wait Ellen.--_God—_I'm lousy at this--it's really been a long long time—I'm pretty damned rusty….what I'm trying to say is--uh--."

"Spit it _out,_ David"—she teased.

"—right—ok—" he sighed. "Do you want to --go out for a coffee--sometime--?"

" A _coffee_--? that's _it--?—"_

"—No—that's not _it--"_ -- _Crap._ He was ruining it.-- He swore under his breath—shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets.

She let him squirm. "—David--?"

"Look Ellen. This has all been a weird rush. But I know this. I like you. And I think you return that sentiment…at least I hope so--shit, I'm too old for this wooing crap—"

She couldn't keep from laughing.  
"—Doctor—are you trying to ask me out--? Because you may not know what you're getting into…"

He was crimson with embarrassment. She felt like a cat toying with a mouse…

"Can I see you again, Ellen—Under happier circumstances…?"

She rolled her eyes. "_Yes,_ David. –Now--was that so hard??"

"—_Christ_—you have no idea--!"

She backed the car out, still laughing at his expense. With a wave she was gone.

He watched her go. He waved idiotically. Then he shut his eyes and shook his head in disgust.--_ Smooth, Bowman. Nice job, jackass._

He walked into the house wearing a stupid grin.  
He could tell from the barking that the occupant in the guest room was awake, and he went in to check on him.  
Sam was sitting beside his brother, having been awakened by the sounds of Dean's coughing. He looked up at David—his face radiating concern.

"Lean him forward and hit his back—gently—" David advised. "It'll help loosen that up."

"It sounds a lot worse,--shouldn't it be getting better--?" Sam asked.

"No—it's good, actually. It sounds terrible—but it means he's regaining lung capacity and he now has more power to expectorate—that's why it sounds a lot more productive now."

"--Well it _sucks_ from here--" Dean rasped when he had regained some control.

David chuckled. "I don't doubt it, Dean. But it will pass soon enough.  
--How do the knee and shoulder feel? I see your brother pulled off your restraints—they'll have to go back on when you're stronger—"

"--Shoulder feels ok. My knee aches a little. It isn't used to the movement I guess.—I'm trying to keep both as still as I can…" He was interrupted by the hacking again.  
When it was over, he lay back, exhausted--wiping his eyes.

"Let's get some breakfast into you before we lose you—" said David. Any preferences?"

Sam snorted. "He's not what you'd call a picky eater—and as for me—anything will be great, -thanks"

"Ok then—back in a few minutes."

--

"—You sleep ok, Sam?" Dean asked. " --you had a face like a work boot yesterday.—"

"Yeah—I could sleep longer but I'd end up being an insomniac later. How about you? --shouldn't you have your mask on? Are you comfortable--?"

"I'm fine Sammy. I'll put it back on after I eat something. --What do you make of this Doc guy--?"

Sam thought for a moment.  
"—I think he's what he seems. --Which makes us pretty damn lucky. I don't know why he's doing this, but I'm not gonna question it at this point…"

"Mmm. He told me that Ellen spilled to him about what we do. I was shocked she'd do that—but if anyone could tell who was a safe bet—she can. Weird thing is—he said he had a vested interest in hunting—something to do with his past. –and that she knows. I figure we'll hear more about that.—"

He tried to suppress it, but a fit of coughing won over. Sam did as David directed and helped him get through it.  
"—s—sonofabitch--!" Dean panted.. "—if I get any healthier it's gonna_ kill_ me--"

"Quit talking, then. --Just whisper—" Sam handed him a tissue to dry his streaming eyes.  
Dean's breathing sounded ragged—and he motioned for the oxygen mask after all. All he wanted at the moment was to curl up and snooze again—but he did feel hunger, and he knew he needed some sustenance.

David returned, carrying a tray of scrambled eggs, toast, fruit and coffee.  
"—Here you go, boys. Best cuisine a lousy bachelor cook can offer. It was that or frozen pizza—"

Dean would have picked the pizza. Sam appreciated the eggs and fruit.  
The spread was polished off in no time, and both brothers felt a little more whole.

It was David who broached the subject.  
"Dean—are you tired? Or can you stand some conversation--?"

Impeded by the mask again—he gave him a thumbs up sign.

"Good.  
Ok--I guess you two are wondering why I'm involved in this with you—apart from my being a bloody saint—that is….  
Well—to begin with—when I saw you get sprung from the hospital—my hippocratic  
leanings couldn't send you out there without some hope of medical support.  
So I headed Ellen off at the parking lot—freaked her out completely—and gave her my number. I was hoping she wouldn't need it, but pretty sure she would. --You idiots don't know what you're fooling with—you don't move a guy in your condition all over creation and dump him into some outhouse in the woods—regardless of your reasons--!"

Sam looked chastened. Dean was tiring—trying to stay focused.

"—well anyway—when you were in dire straits I figured I was in up to my neck anyway—best place for you was here. And _yeah_—I know it's a risk, but what the _hell--? _When Ellen and I were driving I asked her the truth about St. Louis. I guess she figured I was worth the risk too—so she filled me in on that, and the bigger picture.  
I was blown away...speechless.—"

The brothers waited expectantly for him to continue.

"—Ellen worried that I'd think you were all nuts, but it was a revelation that had a huge significance to me.  
I lost my wife six years ago , --camping trip in Colorado. The autopsy report concluded it was a wolf. And I was forced to say that it was.  
But that was no wolf. For six years I've had to hide what I _really_ saw that night. For _chrissakes_, I'm a surgeon—I'm educated—I'm not some backwoods cracker who believes in ghosts and ufos and boogeymen. I tried to make myself believe it was something natural. I almost succeeded. --And then you people turn up—and suddenly it _was _all real—it really _was_ something evil and abnormal that took my Catherine. I _didn't_ lose my marbles—it did happen the way I remember.--Do you understand what I'm saying--?"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks.

"—Werewolf." Sam said quietly.

David looked at them for some sign they were joking—finding none.

"_Jeezus--"_ His affirmation was total now. It floored him.

Sam looked to Dean for direction, and he nodded.

" We've hunted werewolves a few times. They are vicious, powerful creatures, David. You're lucky you came out alive. There was nothing you could have done to save your wife. You weren't hallucinating—they're real, and there are more out there."

David was silent for a few moments, coming to grips with the information. He framed his next words carefully.  
"—I don't mean to sound pushy—but I think you guys will agree—you owe me. --_Big._  
I was glad to help you—don't get me wrong. But I do want something in return. –"

Sam looked apprehensive, --Dean's face had become an expressionless mask. _Here come the strings_, he thought.

"I will do everything I can to make sure you walk out of here a healthy man, and you are both welcome to stay here as long as you need to. But you do this for me. When you come across one of these evil wolf things—if you are on a hunt for one—I don't care where it is—I want in. I want to kill it myself.  
I know you can picture what I saw after it killed her. That image will be burned in my eyes forever. I want a new image—one where that goddamn thing is dead at my feet. Give me that and we're square."

Dean had taken off his mask.  
"You don't know what you'd be getting into. These are the toughest hunts out there. A lot of very experienced hunters don't make it back. You need to forget about this—go on with your life—stay safe—_alive_—"

"Dean's right—" Sam said gravely "You have a life that's worth preserving. You're better off trying make yourself believe it _was_ just a wolf.."

"How can I do that?? I knew it was something evil then—and I know it for sure now! What would you do if you were me?? How can I go on as if nothing happened, when I know I can pay it back for that bloody night!! What the hell would _you_ do--?!"

They were silent. Both hunters felt for him. How could they deny him the right to avenge her, after all he'd done for them?

Dean looked at Sam, with a slight shrug. Sam nodded.

Dean answered  
" I feel like we're signing your death sentence here. But you saved my ass—kept both of us out of jail—I'd be dead if it weren't for you.  
So yeah, we owe you. If that's what you want—then we won't deny you the opportunity.--But your blood is not on _my_ hands—understand?? You remember—_you_ chose this--!"

David sat back, and looked down for a moment. When he raised his eyes—they were brimming.

"—Thank-you."

--


	17. Chapter 17

17

Ellen smiled to herself. –  
--For 45 minutes straight.

When she entered the roadhouse she was met by a tense Ash,-- and the smile faded.

" Cops were here again. Checking things out—no warrant. I just got back from stashing the car—if they were here a half hour earlier we'd have been _screwed_.—"

"Well thank god you got it done in time. Did they say anything? "

"—No—just walked around outside for a bit—talked on the radio. They didn't ask to come in—but they checked it out through the windows. I just smiled and waved.."

Ellen frowned. This smacked of intimidation. They'd have to be very careful to make sure no one followed them when they were heading to David's.

" What about the cabin, Ash?—The rental period is up—"

"—Already headed out there and cleaned it out. I have a stash of their stuff in the basement.—Sam should get it out of here as soon as he can—"

Ash had lost a lot of his trademark oddball cockiness since his recent experiences with the Winchester boys. The series of bad luck, karma—whatever,—had shaken him deeply—he didn't feel quite as invincible anymore.

" How's Dean doing?"

" A bit better. He doesn't seem on the verge of suffocation now…Whatever the doc has him on seems to be doing the trick. That and the oxygen—thank goodness he's not _blue _anymore.." she shuddered.  
"Sam will stay with him there until he's healthy enough to leave.  
And thank _you,_ by the way—for taking care of the car and cabin. Those details could sink us—but at least _one_ of us was thinking.—"

She sat down wearily and sipped a bitter coffee.  
The crowd of regulars would be coming soon—it was late in the evening. The _last _thing she wanted to do was tend bar but there was no one to take the shift –Ash would be busy in the kitchen. _One more reason to miss Jo._

Ash could see she was beat.  
"Why don't you crash, Ellen? I can handle the bar—I'll just tell'em the menu is limited tonight—choice of chips or peanuts. They don't come here for the food, anyway. It'll be fine…"

She sighed and tried to decide, but couldn't focus on the problem…and that was enough of an indication in itself that she really needed to rest.  
"--Think I will take a couple of hours, Ash. But wake me after that—or earlier if it gets busy."

"Okey dokey."

Ellen didn't realize just how exhausted she was—but she kicked off her shoes—headed to the washroom to freshen up and fell asleep the moment her head hit her pillow. As far as she knew, she didn't even dream.

Ash kept order in the roadhouse. Not too difficult—the regulars were a pretty sedate crew—only wanting an evenings respite from some of the terrible imagery they carried.  
The regulars comprised of mostly hunters—this was one oasis of common ground for the lot of them. They didn't discuss their activities Mostly—they stayed amongst like minded friends and pretended that the world was all normal and good.

He knew most of them. Word of sympathetic sanctuaries spread far and wide on the grapevine, and hunters tended to congregate here to have a brief respite from the ugly reality they battled. He served the usual—beer—whisky—and combinations of those.  
No one requested margueritas here.  
There were always the odd new faces—clueless travelers—and those who found their way there through circumstance rather than choice…

Ash was aware of newcomers long before they made any attempt to identify themselves as such…And that is why he warily observed the two men who were making their way round the room—asking seemingly innocuous questions. He kept to his task—watching the strangers as they extracted information from those who knew nothing. Finally they sidled up to the bar.

"Couple of beers here—Thanks—"

When they had their order in hand—they tried to engage Ash in some gossip.  
"—So—Buddy—is this the place where some guy was killed a couple of weeks ago--?"

Ash shrugged noncommittally.

" Come on, man—I heard there was an escaped murderer hanging out around here…ever seen him??"

Ash had the choice here of ignoring them, or filling their hungry minds with false leads.  
He chose the latter. He looked around with exaggerated secrecy-and leaned toward them.  
_"Hell_ yeah—I seen him—I even _know _him--"

They leaned forward in anticipation--

"Names Winchester—Don, or something" he said—"He and his brother were here—just hanging around--when all hell broke loose—"

Ash watched to make sure they were well hooked.  
"Yeah—this guy had it in for the owners of this place—real _whack-job_—and he came out here with a gun. Turns out he shoots the brother of this criminal—nearly gets both of 'em.—but the one manages to take him out and they both end up in hospital. I heard they were sprung by other gang members. Haven't had any problems since—"

The two seemed to drink it up—they gave knowing glances to Ash and finished their drinks. Saluting him—they left the bar. Ash smiled to himself—_morons—_might as well have had neon signs on their backs.—_I'm a cop—tell me some lies—  
_Never-the-less- He felt he should let Ellen know asap.  
Ellen had enjoyed a brief few hours of rest—it was enough—she was ready again to face the inquiries and demands of the world.

--

Sam was sitting—keeping vigil as always over his injured brother. Dean had been sleeping—as such.  
It was punctuated by dreams--frequent garbled speech –and battles that he had no way of aiding. Occasionally he awoke—and they had brief periods of meaningful discussion—but then the exhaustion would reign—and Dean would slip away to do battle alone once more. Sam was waning himself—it was getting late. He watched as Dean struggled with imagery that Sam couldn't alleviate. He wished he could whisper words to calm him—but he knew that Dean's mind held terrible secrets—worse than even his own experiences could equal. Finally he gave in and headed upstairs to bed himself.

David too was tired from the day's events—and he needed to decompress. He checked on his charge—Dean was asleep—and he headed to bed himself. It had been a rather full day. He was pleased—relieved—that Dean was responding well to treatment.  
But he had also opened up a whole new possibility—the wonderful—_terrible_ idea of revenge for Catherine.  
He savoured that possibility—one he never thought he would have the opportunity to enjoy. Catherine's death had been so _brutal_—such a shocking interruption of his happy life. He never thought he could be given this kind of closure.  
He smiled at the irony—the Winchester brothers thought they owed _him_—but what they offered in exchange was far more than they could comprehend.  
And then there was Ellen. –She was like a flowering cactus—lovely, and prickly..._handle with care_. Six years of mourning Catherine—and he is given both revenge and renewal through one event.  
Life was bizarre.  
With these thoughts—David succumbed to his weary need for sleep.

--

Morning arrived—and as was often its habit—_far _too early for anyone's liking. David's alarm scolded him mercilessly until he mustered the effort to shut it up several times.  
Finally –after hitting the snooze button for the last time—he convinced his eyes to stay open..  
It was a work day—but he was uncomfortable with leaving Dean alone for the duration of the day. It was still early in his recovery—David wanted to monitor him a while longer. Since he had no surgeries scheduled--he decided to take a sick day.  
He yawned and sat up, and scratched his unruly salt & pepper hair—glancing at his reflection in the mirror.  
He smiled to himself. Catherine used to tease him that he looked more like a farmer, or a lumberjack—than a doctor. She'd have been less than impressed with him this morning.

Coffee. He needed coffee."  
Throwing on his robe—he headed down to the kitchen and got the brewing started.  
He checked in on Dean—who was sleeping quietly after another fit of the cough that plagued him most of the night. He monitored his temp and other vital stats—relieved to see that everything was approaching normal levels.  
His breathing was still shallow and quick—but he didn't show any indication that it hurt to do so. David would switch him to an oxygen tube instead of the mask —easier for him to speak etc.

Sam still snored away upstairs. He'd leave him sleeping for a while longer.

He sat down in the livingroom, steaming cup in hand,-- and thought about everything he'd experienced and learned in the past few days. His priority was to get his patient back on his feet as soon as he could. The sooner the brothers could put distance between themselves and this part of the world, the better.  
-- For everyone's sake.

David wondered how soon his opportunity for vengeance would come..  
He was a hopeless neophyte regarding weapons—hated guns all his life.  
But he'd have to start doing some target practice, or something-- –he didn't want to be any hindrance on a hunt—especially one that Dean had said would be _extremely _dangerous.  
Maybe it wouldn't even involve a gun—how the hell _do_ you kill a _werewolf?? _  
He wracked his brain for things he'd seen in film or print—Wooden stake--? Silver dagger--? _Magic beans?? _

He shook his head and snorted. He couldn't believe he was seriously contemplating these questions The absurdity of it all made him giddy--these people were _nuts_—and he should be committed to the loony bin right alongside the rest of them--

Still--he prayed it wouldn't be too long a wait..  
—but not _tomorrow_ either.

He hoped Ellen would come in today. He liked her cut & dried practicality—qualities he was sure hid a passionate core.  
She was a challenge—and she certainly had an ability to turn him into a blushing, stumbling embarrassment to the masculine race..  
Maybe fate would grant him a bit more eloquence today.-- He certainly hoped so..  
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of Sam coming down.

"There's coffee in the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever you want, Sam—"

"—thanks—" he yawned, checking first to make sure the curtains were drawn.  
He filled a mug and joined David.

"Your brother seems to be responding well, Sam -- I checked on him earlier—his vitals are improving.—"

Sam was appreciative. "Can't thank you enough, David…..I wish we could repay you in some way _other_ than endangering your life on a hunt—"

David shook his head—" Sam—you've lost people close to you. I know enough of your story—you spend half your life in pursuit of vengeance. You know I have to do this now…."

He nodded, sighing. " I guess I do."

"Sam—how do you _find _these things--I mean—it's not like these are commonplace events. Do people call you? What is it—some sort of networking??"

Sam laughed. "—uh—well—one good research tool is to read the tabloids--Enquirer—the world news—those types.  
You think I'm pulling your leg—but think about it—no mainstream paper is going to devote _any_ serious energy to reporting the kind of thing we chase. Those other rags report nothing _but. _  
Go through a couple—you'll soon be able to pick out the ones that have some ring of truth—real addresses, dates—names. And the net, of course.--Lots of sites dedicated to weird happenings. Most of them are amateur crap, or fake—but there are a few that take it seriously—I'll get those for you. Other than that--just keep your mind and eyes and ears open—"

_"Huh_.—ok—good—I'll have to pick up some bathroom reading then."

Sam was concerned about David's safety in other ways as well.  
"David—when do you think Dean will be mobile?--I hate the idea that we are jeopardizing your safety or career. We need to get out of your hair.—"

"Look Sam—don't worry about me—and don't rush things. You are still recovering yourself..  
Dean—he should be strong enough to be up in a day or two. I'll give him his hinged knee brace—not to bear weight yet—but so he actually fits into cars or can use the crutches later. That shoulder will have to be kept rigid still—at least for one more week. --Don't want to risk tearing it out again. I think the spleen issue is fine—as long as no one gives him a punch to the gut. The main thing is that his lungs are clear. If they're not—and you two go running around the country again—I guarantee he'll have a relapse of the pneumonia—and the second time around is always _much_ more deadly and hard to treat--not worth the risk.  
As long as we're all careful—no one will know you're here. So relax--you can plan your next moves—but don't plan on implementing them for at least a week…ok?"

"Ok—I hear you." Sam agreed.  
"But now,.. David—we both know the _real _reason you want us here a bit longer.--" he grinned.

David kept his eyes focused straight ahead.  
"—Don't know_ what _you're talking about--"

Sam laughed—"Like _hell _you don't-- Your trying to catch that tiger by the tail. ..You're a brave man, my friend. Ellen is one of the more--_definitive_—personalities I've ever met."

David reddened, smiling. "Think I've got a chance--?"

"From what I've seen—I'd say yes. But bring your top game every time—_Man, _you sure do pick your challenges."

The conversation was interrupted by the phone. David answered , spoke briefly to Ellen, and handed it to Sam. After some discussion, Sam hung it up.

"Well—it seems cops have been sniffing around. She's a bit rattled. We really have to watch for any surveillance—don't want to link the roadhouse to your place.  
She also confirmed that our friend Bobby is on his way with a loaner vehicle. He'll drop it and pick up the impala, and take it back to his yard for a while."  
He sighed. "—this is gonna kill Dean. Everything that defines him is wrapped up in that bloody car. I'll never hear the end of it…"

David listened expectantly.

"Oh—and _yes_—she's coming as soon as Bobby gets there—_happy now--?"_

David smiled and gave him the bird.


	18. Chapter 18

18

The sea-lion was barking in the guest room again. Sam poured a coffee and brought it to him.  
Dean held his hand up—trying to stop it. Finally he took the cup from Sam—and cradled it in both hands-savouring the heat.

"oh yeah--" he whispered. "That's what I need…"

"Nice _lid_—" Sam said—mocking Dean's bed hair. "You gonna keep the beard?--You know--your face has been in the public domain for the past week—maybe you should keep it on for a while."

Dean stroked his overgrown whiskers. He didn't like the feeling—but Sam had a good point there. It wasn't very dense—not like John's had been—but it was a change in appearance none the less. He grunted in answer.  
He was always bugging Sam to get his wild hair cut—but maybe he should grow his own a little longer for a change.

"—Feeling any better--?" Sam asked.

"—yeah.--sorta. " he said hoarsely.—I'm starving. ..Did I hear Ellen called?"

"—uh—yeah--she said cops were around—uniforms earlier, and a couple that were probably under cover last night -- Ash fed them some bullshit and they left. We're gonna have to be so damned careful traveling between the two places.--"

Dean frowned.

Sam continued-- "She said Bobby's on his way with a loaner—He'll wrap the impala and take it back to his yard on the flatbed. We have to get everything we need out of it."  
--_except maybe those crappy tapes—_

He paused—realizing the impact this had on his brother.  
"—Sorry Dean…"

Dean swore under his breath. He knew it was the right decision—just hadn't really been prepared to face it yet…

But he shrugged it off for Sam's sake.  
"Well—that's good,-- I _guess_. At least I know he'll take care of her.  
--So what piece of shit is he bringing, anyway?"

"—Don't know yet. It'll be a surprise—"

"--yay.—" Dean muttered sourly.

David came in with a tray of breakfast. It was a welcome distraction for Dean—he really was feeling hungry—and David was pleased to see him wanting to eat.

They made short work of it.

"—David—can I get up here yet--? I'm getting kinda tired of……." He was too embarrassed to continue.

"Sure, Dean—if you feel up to it."

Sam volunteered to support him in his quest to use the can like a normal person. David quickly strapped him into his braces—and Dean swung his feet to the floor for the first time in ages.  
Sam took all his weight as he wobbled to a standing position. That lasted all of three seconds before his weakness made itself apparent. His knees buckled and Sam caught him.

_"--f—k--!" _

"—It's ok, Dean—just take it slow--"

He'd been prone for so damned long, he felt a wicked head-rush—nearly blacking out.  
He had to wait a moment or two before the hissing left his ears and he could focus again. Sam held him patiently.

"Ok--I'm ok--better hurry up, though--"

David accompanied them, carrying the IV.  
They got the task done. Dean requested permission for a bath—and Sam—with his head in his armpit--_ really _hoped David would grant it…

David ran a tub and they got him into it.—once again removing the braces. He was warned to keep his IV hand out of the water.

Dean shuddered with pleasure—it had been a while—and the hot water felt _sooo good…_

"—You're not gonna drown, are you--?" Sam asked.

"No—it's good--thanks—" Dean sighed.

"Ok—call us when you want out…"

_Never….._he thought.

The doorbell was ringing and David went downstairs to answer it.  
He figured it would be Ellen—he was taken aback when he was greeted by two uniformed officers.

"Uh—yes—Officers—can I help you--?"

_"Dr. David Bowman..?"_

"yes—"

"Sir—we just have a few questions about a former patient of yours at the General. May we come in..?"

David was completely caught off guard—he stammered a yes and the men entered the hall. He was still wearing PJs and a robe—he felt completely off balance and prayed it wouldn't show.

One of them queried—"Day off today, Doc?"

David chuckled nervously.

"Actually yes—_sort of_. Taking a sick day today. Now—how can I help you--?"  
--He prayed hard that Sam and Dean stayed hidden and quiet.

"Well sir—we are investigating the escape of a murder suspect by the name of Dean Winchester from County General while under guard. We understand he was your patient. Can you tell us if you recall any unusual visitor activity the day he disappeared from his room? Or any other details that may be relevant..?"

David legitimately tried to recall.

"I had done my rounds that evening. I believe I was about to sign out when we heard he was gone. I don't even know _how_ he made it out of there—he was only _just_ post operative—ruptured spleen—he had serious internal hemorrhaging--and was also recovering from previous surgeries to his knee and shoulder.  
I'd be surprised if he survived that outside of the hospital environment…but I don't recall anything strange leading up to it…."

"So you would say that this man was too weak or sick to escape by himself—that he was aided by others--?"

David looked at them quizzically.

"No--I would say he couldn't move under his own power…and that he may be in dire straits or worse at this moment due to his decision to leave.  
Other than that—I have no knowledge of the incident. I will say again, though—he was in _no_ shape to leave that hospital.  
-- I'd look for him in adjacent state health facilities. Or _morgues. _--Damn shame. All that work for nothing…."

The officers—satisfied by his answers—thanked him for his candor and left.

As soon as the door closed, David shut his eyes and released his pent up breath.  
Sam peeked his head around the corner—asking for the all clear.  
David nodded.

"—Are you alright--?" Sam asked.

"—Yeah…._whew._ That was --_different_….!" David shuddered.  
This was all very new to him—the intrigue—the lies—the cold, sweating fear. He might remember it later as a rush, --but at the moment—he was just glad he didn't soil himself.— "Do you think it went alright--?" David worried—

"You were great—" Sam assured him. " Smooth—like a pro.."

"—Good" he shuddered. "What time is it—past noon yet?? I need a drink—"

"For you, David—it's past noon. I'll fix you up…"

David sat down heavily in an overstuffed club chair, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Course I had to be in my pyjamas…." He took the glass with a trembling hand.  
"—thanks. –Do you think that really_ was_ routine, Sam?—Or are they on to us--?"

"—Routine. As you said—you were the attending..—don't worry about it…"

David drew a deep breath and settled himself.  
"—We'd better go up and rescue Dean—he'll be a frozen prune by now.."

The bath _had_ cooled, but Dean had fallen asleep in the tub.  
Sam smiled, and they woke him-- dried his shivering form and helped him back into bed.

"—Hang on Sam—lemme dress like a big boy today. Find me some jeans will you--? I'm sick of looking like I ride the _short bus_--"

Sam laughed and rooted through Dean's bag—finding some jeans, and tee shirt and shirt. He tossed them to him, and helped him dress. They freed his shoulder for a moment—putting the tee shirt on properly, then replaced the restraint. Sam helped him pull the jeans on.

" --these must be yours, Sam—they're way too big…."

"No—they're yours—check the tag. You know—you _have_ lost some weight.."

He read the tag. "--shit—they _are_ mine. Holy crap—_feed me, Seymour_--!"

Sam had noticed that Dean had thinned out a little. He made a note to stuff him with nutritious snacks more frequently.  
Dean settled under the blankets again, spent from the effort of the morning. He yawned.

"Want to nap for a bit--?"

He nodded.  
Sam hooked his oxygen tube back over his face and patted his shoulder. He'd tell him about the cop visit later.

"—ok—see you in a while."

Dean grunted in reply—eyes already half closed.

He was snoring softly in minutes.

--

Moments later, Ellen arrived, with Bobby. She was breathless with anxiety.

"--We circled the block until we were sure they were gone—" she said-- "—Everything ok--?"

David answered. " Just more questions about that damned Winchester bastard…" he said with a nervous grin.

Ellen was not swayed to humour. "Do you think they suspect they're here--?"

"no—no—I was just an attending physician. They wanted to know my opinion about the thing—if I saw anything out of place. I think --_I hope--_they're satisfied…"

She relaxed and allowed herself to smile for a moment.  
"oh—introductions:—Dr. David Bowman—this is Robert (Bobby) Singer. Bobby has come by to say hello to the boys—hope you don't mind--"

"Pleasure—Bobby. They're in the guest room—on the right …"

Bobby thanked him and headed in.  
Ellen turned to David.

"Are you sure you're ok? Those buggers were at the road house last night too.. What did they say?"

"Just routine questions, Ellen…—they wanted my take on some things. I sent them away--satisfied with _nothing_ answers...Don't worry—I'll blackmail you later…"

"—I'll blackmail you back."

He gave her a _this-could-be-fun_ look, and she rolled her eyes.

"Come have a coffee with me—" he said.

"How about tea? –I'm coffee'd out…"

Bobby entered hesitantly. Sick people freaked him out.

"Hey, Bobby--" Sam welcomed.

He nodded a greeting and looked nervously at Dean—who was sleeping for the moment.

"How're you guys doing…?" he asked.

"Not bad. I'm ok—Dean's mending steadily.. You up to speed on everything?"

Bobby nodded again.  
"Yeah, I heard about all the shit you guys have been through lately. –Pretty brutal. When's he gonna be up and around--?"

"About a week—David thinks." Sam replied. "Bobby—we both really appreciate the loan of some wheels. The Impala was just getting too hot at the moment…"

Bobby shrugged and grinned. "Don't thank me too hard –Dean hasn't seen it yet…."

"—uh oh—what is it--?"

" Reliable transportation that won't turn any heads." Bobby replied. " A nice average blue Ford Windstar. You'll blend in nicely with all the other soccer-moms…"

An epithet reached them from the bed.

"Oh—sorry--didn't know you were with us, Dean…..how you doing--?"

"A freaking _minivan_, Bobby?? --Are you _trying _to finish me off here--?"

Bobby grinned, and winked at Sam—  
"Ingrate--!"

"Aw, _Man_--" Dean fumed for a moment—but he smartened up and realized that Bobby_ was_ doing them a great favour—and maybe he _should_ show some gratitude--

"Sorry I'm being a jerk, Bobby—seriously—thanks, man--" he sighed "I'm just gonna miss my car—you know?"

"Don't worry about it, Dean. Anyway—I'm sure the Impala will fetch a decent price at the auction…."

Dean's eyes became instantly round— "--wh--_What_?"

Bobby and Sam cracked up. Dean realized he was being played.—he smiled acidly in return.  
"—ok—you _are_ trying to kill me—"

Ellen and David peeked in—curious about the laughter.

" Just having some sport with poor Dean here—" Bobby said.

"Oh—well, good. " Ellen replied, ducking back out.

They almost forgot the serious nature of their situation in their mirth. Unfortunately Dean's laughter led to a deathly sounding coughing fit—leaving him breathless and teary-eyed. Bobby—shocked by the sudden reminder of Dean's state of health—looked down in extreme discomfort.  
It cast a pall over the trio.

When Dean could finally speak again—he assured his friend that it wasn't nearly as bad as it sounded—that he was really a _hell _of a lot better than he had been in recent weeks.  
Bobby stammered something lame—looking away and shifting uncomfortably.  
Dean was embarrassed, -he felt weak and exposed.

Thank goodness David rescued them all from the moment.  
"Ellen and I are going out to grab some take-out for lunch—any requests--?"

"Chinese"

"Pizza"

"Chicken"

"Ok—chinese chicken pizza it is. See you in about a half hour--Don't talk to strangers while we're gone—" David waved.

Bobby changed the subject.  
"Is it me—or are those two --?"

Sam laughed. "He's working on it. --Figuring out a path through all those thorns."

Bobby snorted. "—Poor bugger has _no_ idea what he's in for…"

"Actually—he might—" Sam filled him in on the doctor's history,-- and his request to join a hunt.

"Huh…" Bobby was quiet for a moment. "Ellen know--? About his wanting the hunt?"

"Not yet, --I think.." he answered. "why—you think she'll have a problem with it--?"

Bobby gave him a knowing look.  
"It was hunting that took Bill from her. And it also took Jo --that's the whole battle between those two right now—Ellen is dead set against Jo putting herself in that same danger. If she's got feelings for him,--I can just imagine how she'll react to David joining the fray."

"Maybe that will be enough to make him think twice then—" Dean said. "Stupid idea anyway. I mean I feel for the guy—but I don't want to make his a _double_ tragedy—"

"Mmm—" Sam said—"the idea of revenge is pretty sweet for him—but he has absolutely no idea about what's on the other side of that coin. He'd better be prepared that there's no guarantee of a happy ending…"

"—yeah—well…" yawned Dean—"_nothing_ has that guarantee."

"—Amen.." Bobby added.

"Listen--once you are on the road again—do you two have some idea of where you'll go?"

"—Somewhere warmer and busier. Tourist area—maybe Florida. Everybody knows everybody around here, and apparently I'm the favourite news topic. We could use a vacation from all this crap, anyway—" Dean said. "—can that van handle that kind of mileage…?"

Bobby appeared wounded. "Of _course_ it can.! I'm not dumping some _lemon _off on you—it may not be as stylish as _your_ ride, but it's solid.—"

"—relax, Bobby—I wasn't saying you were. And we do appreciate this…."

Bobby smoothed his hackles back down.  
"Well—I tweaked it out a little too. It'll surprise you if you need to floor it. Just make sure all the kiddies are strapped in…" He smiled shyly…

"That's excellent—we knew we could count on you, Bobby." Sam added.

That mollified him somewhat….  
"You guys gonna do anything in Florida--other than lay on the beach--?"

Both Sam and Dean were at a loss—all they were thinking of was getting away—not what to _do_…

Sam answered. "We haven't got that far in the planning yet…any suggestions?"

Bobby had relatives down in the Keys.  
"I'm always hearing about weird things going on in the southern end. --Lot of history there, you know—Native, colonial, Spanish, French, Dutch—you name it. --Doubt it would take you long to find a gig …if you were up to it..  
--Hell, even Hemingway's _dog _is haunting places out there—"

Sam was sensitive to his brother's need to relax and heal.  
"—I don't know, Bobby--that beach thing sounds about my speed at the moment. How 'bout you, Dean—could you ditch the jeans for some shorts for a change?"

Dean grunted. " Well apparently I'm a bit scrawnier than usual. --Not sure I want to show my pasty bird- legs to the world."

Bobby was busy writing some phone numbers on a scrap of paper.  
"Well—whatever you decide—talk to these folks. Sally's my cousin—or second cousin, or something. They rent out a few cottages in the keys. You want to know the local stories—they're up on _everything_.. Plus—you can rent a place that's gonna be pretty quiet and interesting. Good fishing too."

Dean read the note. _Emily & Sally_. He looked at Bobby and raised an eyebrow.

Bobby set him straight. " Yes, Dean—_two women _who live together. You can draw all the conclusions and fantasies you like—but they're both in their sixties. And either of them could take you with one hand tied.—"

"You haven't said anything to discourage him yet—" Sam said—joking, but only a little.

Dean just smiled and pocketed the note.  
When he was thinking Florida,—Daytona beach came to mind,--busy—lots of great cars and chicks--—But a little place in the keys—sunny, warm, ancient--and filled with possible intrigue—now that could be equally interesting--

Sam surreptitiously watched his brother…. He was glad to see him perk up at the thought of their travel.  
He really had no clear idea of what the best course was at the moment—he himself was in hiatus—but anything that brought more of the old Dean to the forefront was a good thing.—regardless of the annoyance factor.  
Sam remembered the not too distant past when Dean was _whole_—confident, brash, difficult—but exuding a power that Sam missed—and needed.

Dean really had no idea of the effect he had on Sam. Even if John were still alive—Dean filled a paternal role more fully and completely than the other _ever_ could have.  
Sam –with all the frightening uncertainty of his own future—needed the comforting protective strength his older brother represented.

"Sam—we'll give you a lift back to the roadhouse after lunch. You can clear out the car and get whatever else you need and stow it in the van.. I took the spare out of the compartment—so you can hide your hunting gear in there."

"thanks Bobby. --Anybody want anything while we wait for those guys? Coffee—something cold--?"

"—I'll have a beer. " said Dean "–Make it six.—"

"—nice try. --David warned that you'd hurl if you drank anything while on that antibiotic. Spare me that--please—"

"--_Man_--No _car--_No _drinking._ Hand me a gun will you, Bobby--?"

He laughed. "come on Dean—there's still chicks. Just keep thinking about that beach."

The banter was interrupted by the sound of a car in the driveway. They were all looking forward to digging in to the food the doc and Ellen were bringing. Sam got up and peeked through the curtains.

"--Uh oh--" he said……………….


	19. Chapter 19

19

"--_What_- what is it—?" asked Dean, a sharp edge of fear in his voice..

"—Trouble in paradise—" said Sam. He watched through the curtains as Ellen slammed the car door, her expression thunderous…  
David was exiting the drivers side—his hands in a beseeching gesture.  
But she clearly would have none of it.  
She angrily emptied the back seat of its contents and headed toward the door.

Sam warned them—" I'm guessing the issue of the hunt has been addressed—or else something _else_ has set her off--" He replaced the curtain. " Here we go--"

The trio heard them enter, accompanied by much slamming and stomping. Mostly Ellen's. They could hear low angry voices, and they waited in discomfort for the thing to come to a head.

She entered the bedroom and threw the sacks down on a dresser.

"_You_—you damned _Winchesters!_ she spat angrily.  
Dean and Sam exchanged looks warily.

"You're not happy unless you take away _everyone _that is important to me, are you--?"  
Bitter tears welled in her eyes.

"Ellen—What are you—" Sam tried.. But she held up her hand to stop him.

"You know damn well _what_--First Bill, --then Jo—and now David. What did you do—fill his head with a bunch of romantic _crap_ about revenge, or honour, or some other_ male bonding garbage--?"_

She was losing her grip on her emotions—her voice breaking.

David hung back—miserable. He regretted terribly the direction their conversation had taken. He was shocked by her reaction—had no idea the impact his decision to join a hunt would have on their fledgling relationship. He thought she was on onboard with all of this—mistaking her familiarity with the world of hunting for approval.

Ellen continued her tirade.  
" Didn't you two learn _anything_ from the past weeks?? Look what _hunting_ has cost you--! Why did you feel the need to involve _him_ in it too?? Does he _look_ like he can do this --?"  
She turned away—too emotional to continue.

Dean had had enough.

"Whoa--back the truck up, Ellen-! " he barked—"You are _way_ off base-- We _never _invited David on a hunt—he requested it.! Last damn thing in the world we need is for some _amateur_ to get in the way when we're trying to kill some evil sonofabitch that's fighting back tooth and nail--.  
It's hard enough to stay alive and _whole_ in this business—do you really think we just blew a bunch of sunshine up his ass so we could have another playmate for our games??"

She was quieted—she didn't expect this rebuttal—

Dean continued—"And what the _hell _are you talking about with Jo?? I _never_ encouraged her to hunt—I didn't want that for her anymore than _you_ did—you know,-I tried everything I knew to dissuade her-- so why are you blaming us for that? --You're the one who drove her away--  
--And as for your husband—that's not bloody fair--"

He couldn't continue—he was struck by a fit of hacking –--he struggled but couldn't get a grip on it and it left him gasping –tears streaming down his face. Sam discreetly replaced his oxygen tube., as Dean lay back on his pillows, eyes shut tight, exhausted.

Ellen stood, arms crossed—angry and confused. As she slowly calmed down—she realized she was transferring her anger and fear over this new development onto these two—and it _wasn't _fair.

And she regretted causing Dean's difficulty.  
Unsure of how to react at this point—she turned on her heel and went to the livingroom to regroup.

David stuck his head in the doorway.

"—Sorry you got caught in the crossfire.—" he said, wincing. "Guess I should have known better…." He shrugged helplessly.  
But the physician in him remembered to check on his patient--

"—You ok, Dean? -Need anything?"

Dean shook his head—not wanting to trigger another fit by speaking.

"—Ok --" he sighed. "I'd better go talk to her…"

He left the room.

Sam looked at Bobby.  
"Boy—you sure called _that _one--"

"Yeah……" He let his eyes stray to the dresser. "Probably shouldn't let that go to waste--"

Dean opened his eyes and indicated he was in. Sam smiled and retrieved the bags—dividing the various items and saving a portion for the two combatants.

They ate their lunch in silence.

David swallowed hard and joined Ellen in the livingroom. She had her head in her hands—her emotions were whirling and she was embarrassed—_mortified _actually—at her outburst.

He sat down beside her. His hand hovered over her shoulder, and then he thought better of it, dropping it to his side again. They sat in silence until they couldn't stand it anymore.

He waded in.

"—Ellen, ……I'm _sorry_.  
--I didn't know—_didn't think-- _about how you would feel about this.  
--But _you_ of all people should understand what this means to me. I've had to deny this for six years—almost thought I was crazy…and now I know it happened the way I remember—and that I _can _do something to balance that vicious, horrible night.  
I did ask those boys for this—as repayment for my help. They objected—they tried to talk me out of it. --especially Dean—he's really opposed.  
But I wouldn't let them.. I want this—_I need this._ For her –and for me. I need something to remember other than my guilty helplessness and her ruined bloody body.  
--Can you understand--?"

Ellen was silent. She felt foolish—she didn't know David well enough to make any demands of him.  
But never the less--she did have feelings for him.

She raised her head and met his eyes.

"--yes, David. I _do_ understand.  
--But I've been through this too many times—I don't think I can—_I don't want to_-- do it again…."

She sighed miserably and looked at the carpet.

"I can't stop you from taking this path, David.--I don't have the right.--"

She paused again—fiddling with her wedding band..

She looked up again and met his unhappy gaze.

" I think we both feel something worth building between us, David. It's been a long time--I really like you—I--. She sighed again.

"—But if this is what you plan to do--I can't see you anymore. When you get this --_stupidity_-- done—when this is out of your system—I'll welcome your company.

But I won't stand waiting and watch you die as a result of your quest. I just _can't _go through that again.  
It's up to you." She looked away. Her hands were curled up into tight balls.

"—I don't know what to say, Ellen…" He really didn't. He wished he did.

"—Well—I guess you should say goodbye, then. --We'll--have that coffee --when it's over.."  
She kissed his cheek and headed to the guest room.

The trio were done their lunch—feeling slightly guilty. Ellen entered.

"Sam—I'm heading back—do you want a lift to the roadhouse…?"

He looked to Dean—who was hovering on the verge of sleep. Then up to Bobby—who nodded.

"Uh—sure, Ellen-—thanks. I'm ready when you are…"

She turned towards the door.  
"well—let's go then.

That was one of the more uncomfortable, silent drives Sam had ever taken.

When they finally got to the roadhouse--the two men exited the car as if it were on fire. Bobby was eager to show Sam the van—and Sam was eager to be anywhere but in Ellen's sights.

Ellen left them to their own devices. She had work to do—and was more than fed up with the dubious logic of men.

When she was out of earshot—Sam sought Bobby's advice.

"Bobby--I don't know what to do here--My first instinct was to just delay the whole thing—I mean—a specific hunt is pretty rare anyway..  
but now I'm thinking—let's get this thing over with as soon as possible…"

Bobby waited for him to continue. He knew both families for years—and with his extensive experience as a hunter--he was well qualified to offer guidance.

"We owe Ellen _so _much—she was there for Dean—for both of us-- right from the start of this whole fiasco. And David too. –I mean- here's this virtual stranger offering us his help and home when we had no other way to turn.—  
David's dead set on this idea of vengeance—and I understand that--but he's aware now of how it affects his future with Ellen.  
Who do I satisfy here, Bobby?? I think we're damned if we do,--damned if we don't--"

Bobby sat down and thought about it.

" I want to see her happy as much as you do. I've known her and Bill forever—damn near killed her when he was taken……  
And David seems like a right sort. But he's gotta get this done. So for the both of them—let's find us a bloody wolf hunt as soon as we can—and pray it doesn't kill us all.."

Sam agreed.  
"I told him to keep checking the net, and the tabloids—so that's covered. I'll do the same. If you could keep tabs on the hunter community—maybe you could get a lead or two.--I'd prefer that it happen when Dean was up to it—he's got the experience with this --along with you--  
--Damn—I don't want to put him in danger again so soon…."

Bobby agreed.  
"You two are in enough shit at the moment anyway. You need to get out of here—go south like you plan. Get that brother of yours whole again. --Can't even think of David's needs until that's done."

Sam sighed. The whole dilemma was tiring. He just wanted everyone to be _happy_. Unfortunately the road to that was a collision course…

He and Bobby threw themselves into packing the van. Ash brought the Impala out from the place he'd secreted it—and Sam retrieved everything of use from it—even the tapes. Gordon had removed most of the handguns, but there was still enough weaponry and peripherals to be useful. Once everything was transferred and secured in the van—he and Bobby got the car loaded onto the flatbed. They tarped her well for the trip.  
And that was it.

Sam stood back, arms crossed—unhappy. He knew how Dean would have felt—watching his baby leaving. Sam would miss it as well. It was a symbol of comfort for him—because it meant everything to Dean….And if Dean was happy--

He thanked Bobby again for his efforts.  
Bobby shrugged. "I know you'd a done the same. We're all in this together, Sam…  
--I gotta get going—long drive .  
Sam—take care—and take care of that walking disaster of a brother. I'll be in touch about things. –And make sure you get a hold of Sally.

They shook hands warmly.

"I'd better go say goodbye to the tiger. Take care boy--we've got your back—don't forget that."

Shortly afterward—Bobby, and the Impala—faded from view.

Ash came out, two beers in hand. He handed one to Sam and they sat on the bumper of the van.

"—What's with _her_—?" he asked.

Sam filled him in.

"—Shit ….Gonna be hell around here for a while—I guess. Lucky thing you're at the doc's.." Ash mused. "How's Dean doing--?"

"Good. –Better. Still weak—but we plan to head out early next week—Florida."

"Excellent plan, my friend.—might join you at some point…"

"You'd be welcome company, Ash. I'm tired of all this –just want to relax—and see Dean do the same. And I believe you owe him a bender--!"

Ash laughed. "Yeah—that's right. Never got the chance to make good on that. Well, Florida's as good a place as any. "  
He handed him a couple of cell phones.  
" Use these-- I arranged it so they fly under the radar. Don't ask me any questions—and if the _pentagon _calls--don't answer..." he smirked.

"man—you _are _dangerous--thanks!"

Ash gave Sam the heads-up.  
-- " Here she comes. I'm gone—Seeya"

Sam watched him go—dreading the conversation with Ellen.

She joined him on the van bumper.  
Ellen was nothing if not direct.

" I owe you an apology, Sam—you and your brother. I was--upset—by David's news. Shouldn't have taken it out on you boys…."

He didn't know what to say to her. Clearly, despite her affection, her help—she had deep resentment about certain things.  
He couldn't change the past.

"—I'm sorry for all this, Ellen—" he said.

She patted his arm.  
"Never mind. This is something he needs to do—I know that. When he gets his wish—I'm just glad you two will be there looking out for him."  
She watched the sun dropping on the horizon for a moment.  
" Dammit……….I was looking forward to –--_seeing_ him.  
--But he knows my position. If he's still with us when it's over—we'll pick up again. But I'm not going to pine over yet another casualty of this bloody business. --I'm too old--"

"Then we'll just make sure he comes back in one piece. Dean and I owe you both that."

She looked weary. "Honey—don't make vows you may not be able to keep."

He looked down. Nothing left to say.

She added--"And never mind trying to find a wolf-hunt _asap_ on my behalf—I won't hear of you endangering yourself—or that stubborn jackass brother of yours, unless you are both 100 percent strong again--do you hear--?!"

"Yes ma'am.."

She got up.  
"Well--you'd best get back. Dean will think I've done you in…  
--Sam--I may not be around to see you in the next few days—but call me—ok?--Keep me updated --about _everything--"_

He promised, --embracing her. She pulled away with a sad smile.

Sam got into his new borrowed wheels, fired it up, and headed away—back to town.

David sat in Dean's room, cross-legged in an easy chair—watching him as he slept. He was always concerned about his patient—but this time he was there just waiting--wanting to talk to someone about this abrupt turn of events.  
Dean wasn't very accommodating at the moment—his outburst and the coughing had worn him out, and he was far away, immersed in his dreams.

Dr. David wasn't concerned about that. The deep and productive cough was clearing his lungs fast—and despite the alarm it triggered in anyone who witnessed it—he knew it was a good sign, an important part of getting better. Dean's many concerns were healing fast—David felt none would be an issue in the near future. All he needed now was strength. Patients were always shocked by their weight loss and atrophy after lengthy bed-rest. Dean would soon be anxious to be up and around—David knew he'd push himself too hard. He guessed he always did that. But between he and Sam, they'd make sure he didn't hurt himself in the process.

He sighed and put his head down onto his forearms.  
Ellen was _so_ pissed off. In a way he was flattered—he was sure now that she felt something significant for him. He was thrilled about that—but then he remembered that he'd also just screwed it all up.

Six years. It was a long period of mourning.  
He figured he'd end up dying single—an old lonely codger with a huge collection of uninteresting books and too many cats.  
But along comes Ellen. So like Catherine—but even more. And he was throwing it away. _Stupid…_

Maybe he was looking in the wrong direction—backward on his life when he should be focused forward on his future. She could have been a part of that future. He sensed she too was ready to look ahead. He barely knew her—but when they were together—it felt natural—felt _right.--_

And while the thought of payback for that awful day was tantalizing—he had to admit—it scared the _shit _out of him.  
He saw what Dean had gone through as a result of hunting—it very nearly killed him --several times these recent weeks alone—and he was much younger and stronger than himself.  
Revenge, if it were possible—wouldn't change the past either. He wouldn't be killing _the_ creature responsible—just _a _creature.

And in the end--Catherine would still be in the ground. So might _he,_ for that matter.

_Christ,--why did it have to be so complicated--?_

Because he was _making_ it so—he realized.  
He had a simple choice.  
--Dead Catherine—and maybe some measure of peace --Or live Ellen—and all the possibilities of renewal.

He sighed heavily.

"—you want to hear my opinion--?"  
Dean had been watching David battle with himself for several minutes.

David raised his head and nodded.

Dean paused.

"—Look--I've hunted and killed a lot of evil things….. Seen and experienced a lot of horror and pain in the name of vengeance. And nothing, David--_none _of it—_ever_—brings them back. What's done is done--it's not gonna take away the hurt you have.  
I do this because I was taught to do it. I don't know any better at this point.  
--But you'd be_ nuts _to choose this……….It's not gonna help Catherine. And you're gonna lose Ellen. And maybe your own life—or nearly. --You need to decide if what you want is worth all that…."

David looked at Dean, with a new respect. It was exactly what he _didn't _want to hear-- but needed to. He was surprised that this young man had pretty much read him-- he figured Sam to be the intuitive one.  
He simply nodded in reply.

David had a lot to think about. He got up from the chair—stiff from his awkward sitting position. He stretched to try to regain feeling in his feet. --he felt _old._  
He realized the time—and felt guilty for not feeding his charge better.

"—I'm going to throw some supper together. Mind frozen pizzas? They're the decent kind--"

Dean shook his head. "no, that's great, thanks. --Could I grab something cold to drink?"

"Sure—orange juice--?"

"--Would a beer _really_ be that bad for me…?" he wheedled—

David smiled. " No—not bad at all.--Because it'd stay in you for all of five minutes. The drugs in that IV of yours will _not _mix with alcohol. And they'll let you know it real quick. Just a few more days, Dean. After that you can load up all you like—"

"—crap." he sighed. "-ok-make it the juice—thanks."

David went to the kitchen.

Dean dropped his head back onto the pillow. He was still so easily tired. It was frustrating. He wanted to get up and move around a little, but the energy eluded him.

Sam should be back soon. Driving the minivan. _Ugh_.

He vowed to get epically drunk just as soon as he was allowed.

David was timing the pizzas when the phone rang. It was Sam.

"David—trouble--I just turned onto your street and there's a patrol car a few ahead of me—turn signal's on. I'll pass you by and check with you—" He hung up. David replaced the phone and peeked out the window

_Shit_—Sam was right—they were turning into his driveway.

He stuck his head into the guest room,--warning "_Cops,_ Dean--" -- shutting the door quietly.

The doorbell rang.

Dean's blood froze at David's words.

In a panic—he leapt out of bed—but again—he'd been lying down too long for such an abrupt altitude change --and the head-rush dropped him like a stone.  
He crashed against the little bedside table, tearing out his IV port and whacking his head on the wooden corner. Disoriented, he swore under his breath--but still very aware of the threat—he rolled under the bed, trying to calm his breathing as quietly as possible.

_Idiot—_he thought, -- strangling himself to suppress the urge to cough --Would have made less noise if he'd announced his existence with a bull horn--.

David answered the door, hopping and rubbing his foot.

"—Sorry, Officers—just tripped and stubbed my toe—" he winced.

One of them chuckled.

"Yeah--we heard the crash. Sorry to bother you again, Dr. Bowman—but we'd appreciate it if you could look at a few pictures for us. May we come in?"

"—Sure—sure, no problem  
He led them into the livingroom.

"Something smells good.." said the chuckle cop.

David laughed—" Well then, you must be a gourmet of my caliber.—frozen pizza."  
_He was doing really well—very natural._

The other officer spread several photos out on the coffee table.  
"Sir—these were taken by the security cameras the night Mr. Winchester disappeared from the hospital. We'd like you to look at them carefully and tell us if any of the individuals appear familiar to you. "

David looked at each picture, squinting—holding them closer, then farther.  
They were blurry, poorly defined photos of Ellen and Ash rocketing Dean down the hall on a gurney.

He shook his head in mock annoyance. "They're too blurred—although I assume the guy on the gurney is the patient in question.--was there a problem with the camera?"

The policeman frowned.  
"uh, no--they were tampered with—some substance applied to the lenses. The other two in the pictures—can you see anything that would identify them--?"

Again he squinted at the pictures. He took out his reading glasses and put them on…. Finally he shrugged in apology. "Sorry, gentlemen—I'm afraid I can't help you. All I see is a fuzzy nurse and, -- I assume--an orderly. Neither look familiar in these…"

They put the pictures away.  
"well, Doctor—we thank you for your time. They're pretty bad quality—it was a long-shot. Enjoy your dinner."

They got up and moved to leave. David followed them to the door and saw them out. He smiled nonchalantly to them as they pulled away, and headed back inside.

As soon as he was sure they were far enough away—he rushed into the guest room to see what the hell had happened.  
He was about to check when the sound of tires again on the driveway brought him back into the foyer.

_F—k—now what??_

Dean was motionless under the bed —trembling slightly from the exertion, or fear--and trying for the love of _god _

not to make any _more _noise. A small gash above his eyebrow—a result of his connection with the night table—trickled blood into his eye—but he was afraid to wipe it away. He waited –praying the threat would be over very soon--

A blue minivan halted in front.  
_Sam._  
David opened the door and ushered him in quickly. The two of them went straight to the guestroom, David looked under the bed , and gently helped Dean out of his hiding place.

"You alright?—are you hurt—?" he asked, anxiously.

Dean shook his head, wiping at his eye.

"—just blacked out—got up too fast,-- smacked my head on the table.  
What happened with the cops—?"

They helped him back into the bed

"—Well—after I covered up the _racket _from your smooth exit by saying I tripped--" he said, shooting Dean a _way-to-go look_—"I let them in.  
They wanted me to identify the people in some security pictures from the hospital—Ellen and Ash pushing you down the hall. Don't worry—they were way too blurry to see any distinguishing features.—How'd you pull _that _off, by the way?"

"More brilliance from Ash—" Sam answered.

David tended to Dean's cut. It wasn't serious—no goose-egg.

_"Ow_—!" he growled.,--flinching. "—so it's ok then—they're happy?"

"Far as I can tell-- Hold _still_, will you--?!" He cleaned up the back of Dean's hand as well, tsking. "I'm going to have to re-insert this in a different place."  
Dean grimaced.. _Ham-fisted hack--_

When he was done he stepped back and surveyed the room. Shaking his head—he couldn't help but laugh. --Night table up-ended. -- IV pole on the floor—leaking its contents all over the rug. --Blanket thrown clear of the bed.

"Well Dean—clearly you are an experienced professional at hiding your tracks. They'd have _never _suspected there was anyone in this room--!"

Dean was a little too shocky to see the humour in it.  
Sam, on the other hand—was having a lot of trouble stifling his laughter …  
Finally he gave up trying.

"--_Shut up!—" _Dean griped. He pulled up his sheet and turned his back to them.

"_Shit--!" _David suddenly sprinted to the kitchen. They heard a string of curses, and in a moment he returned.

"Dinner's ready." he announced sheepishly-- "Your favourite—Cajun blackened pizza…….." He sighed. "Sam—you want to make the call?"

The pizza that was delivered had to be the best they'd ever tasted.


	20. Chapter 20

20

Once everyone was well-filled—conversation turned to the police visit.

"So these little pop-in visits—do you think they're _legit_—or are they fishing around--?" Dean asked through his last mouthful.

David shrugged. "So far it's all been friendly. And I haven't been at the hospital for a few days--they most likely went there or called there first—so I guess it's logical that they'd come here next…."

Sam added "And why would they pick on you anyway, David?—Ellen,- I can _see_—it started at her place—and she's been around and involved from the beginning. But nothing links you in any way other than legitimately as the doctor in charge at the time. We've been careful with moving from the roadhouse to here and back—don't think we were tailed at any point.  
Dean and I have learned that it's a good idea to be a little paranoid—but I think this is probably just what it seems.."

David nodded, and got up, returning with a couple of beers, and a coke for Dean.

"—ok, now you're just torturing me for the _fun_ of it—" Dean griped.

David grinned at him. "To continued freedom.." he toasted.

"Amen—"

Dean sipped his coke.  
He felt bruised and shaken from his panicked attempt at hiding.  
He felt stupid too. Whether he was pretending to be just another dust-bunny under the bed or not—the evidence of his existence was plain as day in that room. David would have been _screwed._  
He resolved to become mobile again asap. He'd had enough of lying around in bed anyway. The black-out was just as he'd said—he'd gotten up too fast--his body and brain weren't ready. He realized he'd better start getting up and moving—or they'd all end up in serious trouble because of him.  
He voiced as much to David.

The doc replied--"As long as you aren't pushing too hard—and you know _exactly _what I mean by that, Dean. Yeah—absolutely--try to get up—_slowly_—and move around a bit. Use the crutches if you can.—but remember,- you're still hooked up—you'll have to tow the stand.  
But make sure one of us is around at the time—because if you end up falling and braining yourself, we're just going to have to bury you in the back yard. --Plus-- I'm a lousy gardener—so a man -shaped patch of green grass in my crappy lawn might raise a few eyebrows—" he laughed.

Sam—being Sam,--admonished—"_Seriously_, dude—only if we're here, ok?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "_Yeah,_ yeah.."  
--Of course he didn't mean it. Having made the decision—he _was_ going to push himself until he could seriously contemplate doing the long drive south. The sooner David, Ellen and Ash were rid of their dangerous connection to them, the better.

"—Don't think I really need the oxygen anymore—you can probably get rid of it"

David looked at him shrewdly. _Starting already-_  
They'd have to keep a closer eye on him.  
But he agreed. Dean didn't need it moment by moment anymore—only when he was rendered breathless by that cough.

It was pushing 11 pm. David had to be at County for 7 am. He wrapped up his conversation with his guests and prepared to turn in.

"I'd better hit the sack—early morning.--you guys need anything?"

They assured him they were fine and wished him a good night, and he headed upstairs.

"—How's Ellen—?" Dean asked Sam.

"Kinda screwed up. She refuses to see him if he pursues his hunt. Well—maybe if he survives, and it's his last—but not now. Too bad—they seem to be good together…."

"Yeah. It's weird. -- I talked to him about it. Maybe he'll change his mind…."

Sam drained the dregs from his bottle.  
"—Any effects from your--um—hiding-?"

"Just a freaking headache. Everything else is fine." He pursed his lips. " Sam—We've gotta hit the road soon. If those cops_ had_ come looking for something—they'd have figured it out pretty quick. I don't want to put David, or Ellen in any more danger.--"

"Ok—but what do you want to do here..? Sam asked. " You at least have to be clear of the pneumonia. We can deal with anything else--"

Dean –surprisingly—agreed. He'd had enough of being sick to realize he'd better not do anything to bring it on again.

"—David said just a few more days on the IV. After that, I think we should think about heading out. In the meantime—I've gotta get moving around.. I can't _stand _this anymore—there's no reason I can't try the crutches—If I stay in this bed any longer I'll go _postal—"_

Sam understood that. He was getting stir-crazy himself.

"Too late to try anything now. I'll help you get to the shower in the morning, if you want. Then you can check out the van…"

_woo hoo._ The _van…_

Sam read his expression.

"—It's actually really comfortable. And Bobby gave it some balls. --Pretty good choice for a long drive south. –--_Air-con_ too."  
_And a stupid tape-deck, --damnit--_

Dean relented. "Yeah--ok. Wake me up when you're getting up. I'm fried--I need to sleep.--"

Sam was tired too.  
"—ok. See you in the morning. --Sure you don't need anything--?"

"—just some water.—" _And a black '67 impala _."—thanks—"

Sam brought him a glass and headed upstairs.

As much as David needed to sleep—his mind would not accommodate him.  
He thought of Ellen.  
He also thought of Catherine. -- But those thoughts were in sepia tones—like old photographs. When Ellen came to mind—it was all in vibrant colour.

And he worried that his patient would hit the road before he was strong enough. At least Sam shared his concerns. But Dean was right—it _was _getting a little scary—with police turning up at the door without warning.

He tossed and turned—trying to will his mind to drift into sleep. _No luck_.  
It turned back to Ellen, and the damned hunt.

When he first learned of all this—he felt so –_vindicated_—by the knowledge that there _was _something deeply wrong--other-worldly-- about Catherine's demise. It filled his slumbering machismo with a need for vengeance. The feeling was intoxicating,--powerful--  
--But being a cerebral man—he also took the time to really _think _about all of it—his motives—the repercussions—the dangers.  
Ellen's reaction was a significant part of it—but it wasn't the only element in his second thoughts.

Dean had put it plainly. _It wouldn't bring Catherine back._  
She was dead. --Six years already.  
They had loved each other—but he had never felt her presence in any _haunting _sense since then.. He figured she was at peace.  
So why risk everything to avenge her? She had been practical,--logical—she would never have demanded that of him.  
It boiled down to his own feelings of being inadequate that night—paralyzed with fear--unable to save her.  
He doubted that killing something _now_ would erase that. As Dean had said--_what's done is done.  
_He lay awake, pondering everything. Finally he came to a decision. It must have been the right one—because his mind released him and he drifted off to sleep.

Dean had expected to sleep immediately, but he was disappointed. He _did _have a head-ache from his run-in with the table—should have grabbed some aspirin. He tried sleeping on his side, but his appliances –David had insisted they go back on—were really only suited to his sleeping on his back—and he was sick of that position.

He tried some bending of his knee—hoping to get it used to the idea for the coming re-deployment. Didn't hurt, really. Just stiff. And that gravelly feeling in the joint was gone.  
He ticked that off as manageable. He thought about the shoulder. David wanted it to remain secured for a couple of days longer. That would mean crutching around would be hindered--he'd be limited to using only one of them at first.  
But at least he'd be able to sit in the front,--even if he couldn't drive. --Not that he'd be seen driving a minivan anyway…but he would've felt like a dork sitting in the back, with Sam as chauffeur. He reminded himself to call Bobby and thank him again—gave him the excuse to ask about his car.

He thought about Florida. He'd never been there. Everybody else on the planet took that nauseating family road trip south at least once in their youth. –But he and Sam had grown up a little _differently._  
He didn't care that they'd missed out on Disneyland—but he had always wanted to see an alligator, --like one of the ones that hang out on golf courses, with all the poodle collars in their bellies.–  
He made sure he still had Bobby's cousin's number.  
-- _This might be kinda cool--  
_He breathed deeply to try relax himself—and was pleased he didn't end up coughing up a lung. It worked. --Soon he too left consciousness behind.

Sam snored.  
From the moment his head hit the pillow.

--

David was up and out before the brothers stirred. Dean was conscious first. Once awake—he was eager to get up and moving. He waited impatiently for a short while for Sam to appear--but when he didn't –he decided to get up himself.  
He was wary of standing quickly—having had enough of a learning curve recently. He sat up—on the bed's edge—and stood up slowly.  
--_So far so good_—he avoided the headrush. He carefully tried a few hop-steps forward—but stopped when he felt an uncomfortable tug on his hand.  
—_Oh yeah—the IV, stupid—_  
He reached back and got a hold of the stand, taking a couple more hop-steps toward his crutches. It was all working fine—but it became apparent that he couldn't tow the stand and crutch around one handed while his other arm was still secured to his midriff. He swore, and yelled to Sam to wake him.

Sam heard —but ignored him.. He looked at the alarm clock with one eye--it was only 7:16—  
He tried his best to tune out the thumping and swearing and hacking--but finally he gave in—worried the idiot would hurt himself. He rubbed his eyes and grumpily got out of bed and made his way downstairs.  
"—You'd better at least have coffee on—" he snarked, meeting Dean in the hall.

" --What would I do that with—my teeth?!" Dean sniped back.  
Sam didn't answer—merely heading to the kitchen. He got the brewing started and sat down in the livingroom to complete his wake-up process. Dean continued trying to move around—finally ending up on the couch—exhausted by the effort."  
"—Thought you were a _morning_ person—"

"--thought you _weren't_--" Sam yawned. "How's it working out—?"

"Ok—but I have to ditch this IV—it's in the way—"

Sam gave him a withering look.  
"—don't even think it—"

Dean frowned. _No ally there…._  
"C'mon Sam--I'm nearly over the cough—what's it gonna hurt--?"

Sam just shook his head.  
"—You really are an _ass _sometimes. Just stay there—I'll pour you your coffee…"

They sat silently, while the caffeine permeated their neurons nicely.  
The day was starting out grey—cold rain pelted down steadily, with a wind behind it.  
Sam put some toast on and when it was ready, he threw some peanut butter on it and brought it out.  
They discussed the coming travel—the route to drive, what to buy for the trip. Sam agreed that they should book a cottage through Bobby's contacts—best have a destination arranged rather than leaving it up to chance. Sam got up and retrieved the cell phones Ash had provided—handing the uglier one to Dean--who turned it over, examining it with distaste.

"Are you sure we shouldn't just use a couple of cans connected by string--??--Where'd you get these antiques--?"

"Don't bitch—Ash set it up so they have no ID and _no charges_. And I couldn't just go and replace ours—we'd be traced as soon as we used them.—"

Dean's opinion immediately reversed --_Could always count on that weird little freak to come through. . _  
'Free' really appealed to him—it was tricky to keep their sources of income flowing. --be nice if they were paid more often for their life-threatening endeavours….  
He added another thank-you call to the growing list. He sat back against the couch for a moment, closing his eyes with a dramatic sigh.  
"--well—guess we might as well check out your _wheels_."

Sam held his tongue. Dean would get over his sour opinion of the van in due time.  
But it was still pelting down outside. They should wait until it cleared up a bit—he wasn't sending Dean out to get soaked in that cold rain.

"—yeah—it'll keep." Dean agreed. "Could you help me get up to the can—I want to take that shower…" Dean struggled to get up off the couch--using the stand as a means to pull himself up.  
Sam watched him closely for signs that he was hiding any pain—something he did regularly when he felt his physical state impeded his purpose.  
But he didn't see anything worrisome in his body language or expression--just the usual impatience. He got up and took his brother's free arm over his shoulders and guided him up the stairs—IV in hand. He could see why Dean was anxious to ditch it—it _was_ bloody awkward..  
Once he was de-braced and arranged in the shower, Sam left him to it and went back down. He was pleased that Dean was able to move some—and he seemed filled with a new sense of purpose that was much more like the old Dean.  
Sam felt some of the weight lift off his shoulders finally.

Checking the time—he reluctantly forced himself to call Ellen as promised. It was Ash who answered. They talked a bit about nothing, Sam passed along Dean's thank-you for the phones--and then Sam made the mistake of asking how _she_ was doing.  
Poor Ash vented for ten minutes—the theme of which was Ellen's particularly harsh mood of late and just how unpleasantly it was manifesting itself. Ash was amazed they still had any die-hard patrons left. No one could do _crabby_ like that woman.  
Sam silently thanked the gods that he was at David's rather than the roadhouse.

Ellen came to the phone—having snatched it from Ash's hand. She enquired about Dean, and Sam gave her his positive report. She brusquely warned him to make sure he didn't overdo anything. No mention was made of the Doc. She released him and he hung up, relieved to be freed from her seething mood. _Poor Ash--_  
Even Dean, at his abrasive worst—was easier to handle than Ellen when she was _difficult._

Dean yelled that he was done, and Sam went back up to aid him. He found his brother half dressed—knee brace on already, and newly shorn of his recent facial growth.  
He even looked more like the old Dean.  
It had made Sam a little uncomfortable, seeing Dean with his unshaven face—he looked too much like John,-- it was unsettling.

"Can you help me get this sling thing back on--?"

"Sure—hang on.." He got him into it and re-fastened the velcro straps—secretly relieved that he wasn't going to have to argue with him over the wearing of it.  
But his happiness was short-lived. The IV stand was beside Dean. But there was no connection between it and any part of his brother.

Sam stood back, crossing his arms.

"Where's your line, stupid--?"

Dean avoided meeting his brother's eye. "It fell out…"

"Dean—These do not just _fall out_! What the hell's the matter with you—you didn't quite pick up on the importance of finishing your meds?? David didn't tell you that _thirty or forty times--?!_

"--Look Sammy—I feel ok—I just thought—"

Sam blew up-- "No you didn't! You never _think_—all you ever do is act on your own selfish impulses! You never think about how it affects anybody else—_Jeezuz!_  
He threw a towel across the bathroom,--furious.

Dean just stood open-mouthed,--shocked silent at his brother's tirade.

"You know—_everybody _stepped up for you, Dean—Ellen--David—Ash--Bobby-- Nobody thought twice about the risks they were taking—as long as it meant _you _were safe and getting better-! So now—because _you _are a little inconvenienced—you throw all their sacrifices away with a bonehead move like_ this_.  
—You know—they deserve better. Hell—_I_ deserve better—I'm sick of watching you hover at deaths door,--you think I wanna go through all this again?!"

Sam didn't wait for an answer—he just turned and stomped back down the stairs. Dean stood frowning. His ears felt hot with a mix of shame, anger and embarrassment.  
He felt like a gradeschool kid brought up short in front of the class.  
Swearing to himself—he finished dressing.

Sam sat on the couch, glowering.  
As he calmed down-he realized that there was a lot of pent up frustration and emotion behind his outburst. Dean was being a jerk—but he probably didn't deserve the whole blast he got. Sam was mild by nature, and he began to regret his reaction.  
Dean was making his way down the stairs. Sam could hear the noises of his struggle.  
He sighed and went to help him.  
Dean wordlessly handed him the stand and managed the rest of the steps by himself. He hopped over to the couch and dropped into it,--throwing his crutch down angrily and staring straight ahead.  
Sam stood the IV in a corner and dropped into an opposite chair.

He sighed—"Man—I'm sorry Dean--"

"Don't. --Don't say it, Sam. You were right. That _was_ a bone-head move. It wasn't right. …..Sorry."

Sam raised his eyebrows."--_Wow_….."

"—you're also a bitch."

Sam shook his head and smirked. "—And--?"

"—and I'll ask David to stick it back in when he gets back--are you _happy now_--?"

"Good boy. Now –since you have your temporary freedom—wanna check out the van?"

Dean shrugged noncommittally, but worked at getting up none the less. Sam handed him his crutch.  
The rain seemed to have stopped for the moment. Sam dropped a jacket over his brother's shoulders—ignoring his snide _thanks mommy_ comment—found the keys and they proceeded to the driveway.  
He unlocked it and slid the side door open. Dean stuck his head in and checked it out. He noticed the tape deck—but that only served to darken his mood, until Sam presented him with a familiar, ratty cardboard box.  
"—You got my tapes! Thanks!"

"—uh huh. " Sam grumbled. He fired it up and it purred smoothly.

Dean _did _have to admit—it looked comfortable. He stood back and leaned on his crutch.  
"Zoinks, Shaggy--let's round up Scooby and the gang.,--time to hit the road for some Spooky Adventures--"

"—Dude--" Sam was about to protest the comparison—but he realized the parallel was actually pretty funny, --and he just laughed instead.

Dean laughed a little too. "Ok Sam—I guess its trip-worthy. -- I gotta go back in—I'm a little tired—"

Sam shut it off, locked it and they headed back in.

It was pushing noon when David called.  
Dean had gone to his bed—he was worn out by his morning's efforts, and his knee was aching .

Sam had no choice but to rat on his brother regarding the IV. David was annoyed but Sam assured him Dean was contrite and willing to see it through.  
Sam mentioned he'd spoken to Ellen—let him know she was miserable,--but that,-_no_-she hadn't asked about him. And he confirmed that the morning was quiet—no visitors thus far.  
David was relieved, and said he'd be back by four that afternoon.

"—Let me make dinner tonight, David—it's the least I can do. --Relax—I'm a pretty good cook—and it'd be nice to have someone appreciate it for once. Most times I feel like just throwing a forkload of hay to Dean, or a bowl of kibble—he wouldn't know the difference… I'll shoot for 5:30—

He hung up and thought about an interesting dinner menu. He knew David had bread, and peanut butter. Coffee. Frozen pizzas and canned soup. Wasn't much he could combine there.  
He got up, --checked on Dean--_still snoring_—and went to the kitchen to see what the cupboards and freezer might have to offer.  
David had a nice grill installed in the counter—and unlike the microwave—it looked like it hadn't been used for, well—about six years. He found some packages of ribs in the freezer—didn't look quite as old as the grill. Some basmati in the cupboard. The fridge yielded left over plum sauce from some hopefully recent delivery--half a jar of teriaki—a few slightly withered vegetables.  
_Sure doesn't eat like a medical professional.. _Some of the things in the fridge were more like medical experiments.

But he was able to gather enough elements for something decent. With that under control—he sat down with his computer to check emails and do some route-planning for their journey. He quickly grew bored with that--no point in planning without Dean's input anyway—he'd just end up being second-guessed. He put the laptop aside and thought he'd tame the dust bunnies that threatened a coup in the livingroom, and went in search of a vacuum.

The noise from the vacuum drowned everything out. When he had finished with it he shut it off and looked up to see Dean standing, watching him with an amused expression.  
"You're a fine little woman, Sam –Like Alice from the Brady Bunch."

"—Just giving back a little, Dean. --And _shut up."_

Dean crutched over and put some coffee on. He was starving—and finding a couple of boxes of KD—he tried to fill a pot with water and somehow get it over to the stove. He was less than successful, and Sam rescued him.

"You don't do this kind of thing when you're healthy--why try now--?" Sam asked—mopping up the water.

"—Just giving back a little, Sam."

Sam looked at him, shook his head and smiled. "Sit down, dumbass—I've got it handled."

Dean lowered himself into the couch with a groan. He was out of shape from all the bed-rest—and he was stiff from his recent attempts at mobility. But it wasn't a bad hurt—more like an affirmation that he was finally able to do something.  
Sam handed him a giant mug of coffee and sat down with his own.  
"We should figure out our driving route for the trip. If you want—I'll set you up on the computer –on the AAA site. There's a great trip planner there.--very _dummy-_friendly…."

Dean shot him a look, but nodded anyway.  
He _was_ kind of a dummy when it came to the net. He knew how to find porn—but beyond that it was all a mystery.

The phone rang—startling them—Dean spilled half his coffee on his shirt. It was David again—asking if Sam could accommodate one more guest. Sam said no problem and relayed a list of some grocery items to bring. David explained about the guest and the circumstances, and he and Sam conversed a while longer.

Sam hung up.  
"—This ought to be _interesting_--. Guess who's coming to dinner?"

Dean looked at him and shrugged.

"Ellen."

"—uh oh. Thought those two were done?"

" Apparently he phoned her and asked her over. I'm amazed she agreed after Ash's description of how brutal she's been lately. But the good news is—he's gonna tell her he decided he _won't _take that hunt.—"

"—what—are you serious? That's huge—for us too. I sure as hell didn't want to see him get _shredded_.--are you sure?"

"That's what he said. --He didn't say why—but I can guess.  
Wish we could get out of here and let them talk about it alone. Maybe we could take the van for a run after dinner…."

"Huh. ……be nice to get out of here for a change. –I'll have to sit in the back—out of view.--but yeah—lets do that."

Sam got up and made the kraft dinner, bringing it out to eat where they were sitting. "Try not to wear it—" he said—handing Dean his bowl.

They sat in silence—absorbing this recent development. Things were looking up.


	21. Chapter 21

21

Since the dinner was now a bit more significant—both brothers did their part to tidy up. Dean did the kitchen—after Sam loaded and filled the sink for him. Took him forever to wash everything one handed, but he managed to finish without breaking anything.  
Sam vacuumed the rest of the first floor, and then did his best to dust the surfaces,--which apparently hadn't been done for a considerable time. Once everything looked a little more presentable, he got started on preparing the meal.  
Dean found some air freshener and sprayed it around liberally. The house air was somewhat stale—it smelled a little like dirty socks. He discreetly sniff-tested what he was wearing, worried it may have been him. It wasn't—but he did smell like coffee-- it reminded him that he should try to gather up their clothing and get it washed.  
He crutched over to his room, changed his shirt-- and went around picking things up and gathering the laundry in a growing pile on the bed.

Sam hadn't heard him in a while.

"you ok, Dean--?"

He didn't answer.  
Sam dried his hands and went to check on him. He found him asleep, sprawled across the bed--half buried by the pile he'd collected. The effort had clearly exhausted him.  
He smiled to himself. Dean was trying—but he always had to find his limits the _hard_ way. He shut the door quietly and let him sleep.

David came home at his expected time. He was agitated—talking a mile-a-minute. Sam poured him a beer and sat him down.

"Ok—David—what's going on?"

David explained everything he'd been ruminating over the last few days—and how he came to his conclusions.  
Sam listened quietly—encouraging him to continue when he paused.  
He was a bit surprised that it was Dean's uncharacteristically perceptive advice that swayed him. But regardless—he was happy that his friend had chosen this path.

"I figure—we all have our particular talents, or skills, or what-ever--to offer to the world…" David concluded. "Dean is a hunter,--as are you at the moment—that's _your _contribution to making this planet better. I'm not. But I have _other _skills to offer.  
You know-I wanted to feel all the release that seeing one of those _things _dead could bring. But that would only be a momentary, selfish thing.

I thought about this a lot. I think my role lies in helping people like _you _in your efforts. I mean--how often are you hurt in this job? More often than you'd ever admit. And where can you go?--I've seen the home-done suturing scars on your hides. Dean is starting to look like a human jig saw puzzle, for shits sakes. --"

He drained his beer.

"I have to do this in a _thinking _manner—which is ironic-because there's nothing _logical_ about any of this--  
--But I'm a doctor. So --I should be a doctor for the _cause._  
Sam—I just don't have the _balls _to risk my life and limb for this stuff—it goes against the very fibre of my being. I'm trained to _preserve_ life—not to risk it.  
So --I think --I should be available to keep people like you whole and healthy to pursue your way.  
That'll be my contribution………Does that make any sense to you--?"

Sam regarded him with affection. He could see the evidence of his friend's personal battles etched on his weary features.

"David--I think you nailed it.  
We do this because--well—it's complicated.  
But knowing what we know doesn't mean instant responsibility either. You are not _required _to be a part of any of this. You can _choose_ to live normally, you know.  
You can ignore—forget—about this ugly facet of reality.  
Ninety-nine percent of humanity does and exists perfectly happily.  
But if you choose to be a part of it—especially in the way you propose—_man—_I can't tell you what that would mean 

to the community.  
--Most of us have copies of medical books, first aid manuals—some medical supplies. We all have had to do our own little surgeries—we're like hockey players--get stitched up on the bench and head right back out for the next shift. It's far from ideal—but it's reality.  
--Having someone like you on board will keep people alive and healing that probably wouldn't have had the chance otherwise. That's no small contribution. Don't ever discount that.  
If you feel _compelled_ to be a part of this—then I think you've found the most significant way you can do that.--"

David was relieved. Because of Catherine—he _was _going to be connected. But he'd found a meaningful way to contribute—and Sam's understanding and endorsement meant the world to him.

Sam took his hand and shook it vigorously.

"Welcome to the family. I think you're gonna be busy…."

Sam helped David retrieve the groceries from the truck. He already had the ribs grilling—the scent filled the house deliciously. David was amazed that Sam was even able to salvage anything edible from the kitchen. He'd definitely be asking for a few pointers.

"Where's Dean--?"

"—asleep on his bed. He was trying his best to contribute—but he was beat. I left him to snooze.—"

David went into the guest room. He had to re-insert the IV _asap_—didn't want to jeopardize the effects of the antibiotics by stopping too early.  
He found his patient in the pile of laundry.

"—Dean—wake-up Hey—Dean--"

Dean groaned a complaint and swatted David's hand away,--but David persisted.

"--_What?!" _he griped.

"It's me—your doctor. Wake up—"

Dean grumbled and sat up, bleary-eyed.  
"--oh—hi David.."

"Show me your hand—dumb-ass—"

Dean knew the drill and presented the appendage—ready to be speared again. He rubbed his eyes while David inserted the IV port in yet another place.  
"—_ow_."

"Serves you right. Now leave it in or the next time I'll stick it somewhere less heroic."

Dean sighed. _Tethered again_. Freedom was short-lived and he'd slept it all away….

David sat on the edge of the bed.  
"—Guess you heard--?"

Dean shook the cobwebs from his brain.  
"—Oh—the _hunt_—yeah—Way to go—good decision--!" Dean was genuinely happy that David had chosen this. "--What changed your mind--?"

"—Oh--couple of things. --Stuff I'd been thinking about. --Stuff you said. --And Ellen…." He trailed off and fidgeted.  
"--Dean—you don't suppose I wrecked it all…?"

Dean was hardly the guru to consult regarding the workings of the female mind. He himself alienated or offended them as often as he attracted them. But he offered his take on it anyway.

"Look David—I know_ this_. That woman is made of stone. She'd rip Jesus himself a new one if she thought he had it 

coming..  
You're the only one so far who has been able to melt that façade—and pretty effortlessly, from what I've seen. If she agreed to see you—I'd say you have a good chance here. So be your charming self and don't screw it up with any more stupid ideas--"

David nodded. "—Ok--good…ok."

"—Atta boy. Go gitt'er—"

Ellen arrived a few minutes early. She wore her best sour expression.  
Sam and Dean mumbled hellos and got the hell out of there as soon as David presented himself. Sam had the excuse that he had to monitor the cooking. Dean just slithered away.

David joined Sam in the kitchen to pour some wine—which, thank god—he'd remembered to pick up.

"—How's it going--?" Sam asked quietly.

"Like she's a stranger that I owe money to…" David whispered.

Sam winced. They _really_ had to give these two some alone time.  
He confirmed that dinner was on in half an hour and sent him back out to the lion's den with two glasses.

Dean hobbled in—desperate to be of help to Sam.  
"_Save me,_ Sam--she heard I pulled my IV this morning—I'm lucky to get out with any danglies _left--!" _Dean said, -vowing to pay David back for _that _one…

Sam handed him some asparagus.  
"Pinch off the little triangles--snap the bottoms off and rinse them--"

"—_One _handed here—" he complained.

"--so it will take longer—isn't that a _good _thing--?"

Dean had no argument and he set about his task. The end result was some rather short and moth-eaten looking spears, but they'd earned their keep long before making it to the table.  
"—Wish he'd get around to telling her his _good _news—" Dean muttered. "we're all in the cross-hairs 'til she's in a better mood…"

Sam was eyeing them through the pass through.  
"I think he's on it right now—hang on--"

They peered at the two—David speaking earnestly and Ellen dropping her head into her hands and growing teary….  
They silently high-fived each other--as much for their own benefit as the others.

Sam got the asparagus shards steaming. In a few minutes he was able to announce that dinner was ready.  
They gathered round the table and Sam served his efforts—which thankfully lived up to their billing and kept everyone occupied with its consumption.  
Dean ate everything that wasn't green. Sam and David smirked--and exchanged knowing looks.

Ellen took the opportunity to toast.  
"to—health—friends—wisdom--"

"--_Sex--" _Dean contributed.

They all turned and gave him looks varying from embarrassed disgust –(Sam) to open amusement (David)

"—--_What--?!" _Dean grinned.

Glasses clinked and the sentiments were endorsed heartily.  
When dinner was clearly winding down—Sam announced that he and Dean would head out in search of dessert. There was some half-hearted, unconvincing objection—but the plan was obviously the right one. Sam rose and 

cleared the plates while Dean poured more wine and crutched to the foyer, towing his IV—and digging through the closet to find his own jacket. Sam joined him--keys in hand.

"Ok—we're off—we'll bring back something tasty--" Sam announced.  
The other two mumbled some response—and the brothers hastened out into the evening.

"Whoa--fifth wheels or _what_…"

"—Yeah, well—now you know how _I _feel every time you hook up with some chick when we go out."

Dean looked at him with an eyebrow raised. He hadn't really thought of that before..  
He struggled to manage his crutch and his stand—until Sam simplified things by taking charge of the IV while Dean got himself through the cargo door.  
Once they were both settled in the van—Sam took them through a Dairy Queen drive-thru, and they loaded up on some decadent treats.  
Dean reveled in the feeling of being sprung from the house—it made the ice-cream that much sweeter. Sam had to agree. He found a park at which to stop.  
When the treats were devoured—Dean wondered how long they needed to stay away.

"—I dunno--it's been a _really_ long time for the poor doc—so I'm guessing a few minutes tops--"

They both dissolved into guilty laughter.

They figured a couple of hours should do it.  
They'd pretty much seen all that town had to offer in the after hours and Sam was starting to worry that they would look suspicious soon—as if they were_ casing the joint. _  
They headed back—and remembering their promise to provide dessert—Sam ran in to a grocery store and picked up a cheese cake.

They hoped the van's arrival in the driveway was enough of a heads up for the two inside—and Sam took his time helping Dean extricate himself, carrying his IV.  
Dean was getting fairly adept at using the single crutch and it would be only a matter of a day or two before he could get rid of the arm restraint. By then he'd have been freed of his tether as well. Then they'd have to seriously consider leaving their safe haven, for everyone's sake.

Sam knocked and opened the door with a loud _hello._ They didn't want to be surprised anymore than the others would…  
Ellen was in the kitchen hastily preparing coffee. She poked her head out and greeted them.

"You guys were out a while—what'd you bring us--?" David asked.

Sam presented his purchase and went in search of some plates.  
Dean dropped onto the couch with an "_oof."_  
"_So….?"_ he asked—turning to the doc with a mischievous look..

David blushed.  
" We had a very _nice _evening . --Lots of quality conversation…."

"—Uh huh…" he grinned. "By the way—you might want to tell her she buttoned up her shirt wrong…"

David chuckled with embarrassment and whispered conspiratorially "—you kind of caught us off _guard_…"  
Dean shot him an _attaboy _look.

Ellen and Sam brought trays into the livingroom.  
"You look tired, Dean—" she said—handing him a mug. He was, actually. _Exhausted._

"So do _you._ –You two have a _pleasant_ evening--?" he asked with an innocent expression. He was enjoying making them squirm.

"Very _nice_, thank you. We had a lot to talk about—" she answered in a clipped _none-of-your-damn-business _tone.

He looked pointedly, eyebrow raised, at the mis-buttoned place.  
She glanced down and let out an exasperated '_Damn'_—rising to go correct it. She smacked him on the back of the head as she passed him.

"_Ow!" _he protested with a laugh—ducking too late and smoothing his tufted hair back down.

They polished off the cheesecake and Ellen announced she had to return to the roadhouse.  
"_Lovely_ dinner, Sam, thank-you. You have a real talent. –And _you_—" she said sternly, turning to Dean—" If I hear any more nonsense about you undermining the doctor's work, you'll have me to answer to--!"

"Yes'm—" he mumbled sheepishly. She kissed them both goodnight and David followed her out.

Dean let out a deep sigh of relief.  
It had been a good evening, but it was tense and draining.  
He was glad that this particular puzzle piece had so nicely fallen into place. It was a rare thing lately for something to work out so well.  
Now they could leave knowing their friends had a chance at real happiness.  
--At least something _good_ came of all of this.

Sam dropped down beside him.  
" That was excellent.…"

"--mmm hmm." Dean's eyes were closed.

" You ok?" Sam asked, ever concerned.

"—just tired., Sammy."

"I hear ya."

David came back in and joined them. He looked weary, but content.  
"I really want to thank you guys--"

"So you guys are good then--?" Sam interrupted.

"--Yeah—very good."

"Well, congrats, David. --Glad we could help the cause." Sam smiled, adding "—Don't know about you two—but I'm beat. Think I'll head up. How about you, Dean?"

Dean had fallen asleep.

David seconded that.  
"yeah—it's been a busy day--I'm done. --Do you need a hand getting that _jackass _to bed?"

"--I _heard _that--"

David laughed and rose to leave. " Guess not, then. --G'night boys. I'll be out early again tomorrow."

Sam rose. "I'll get the laundry off your bed."

"—thanks mom—" Dean mumbled.

Sam returned and hauled him to his feet—pointing him in the direction of his room.  
"Go to bed, Dean. --then I can."

He nodded, yawning. He hooked his thumb over his crutch grip and fingers around the stand, attempting to maneuver both in the same direction. Didn't work, of course. He only succeeded in tripping himself, and both he 

and the stand would have sprawled on the floor if Sam hadn't caught the both of them.

Sam sighed and helped his scowling brother to his bed.  
" And I am _not_ reading you a story."


	22. Chapter 22

22

This morning Sam got up with David.  
They sat with their coffees, both far away in their own thoughts.  
David was still reveling in memories of his past evening. Sam's mind was wrapped up in the logistics of the impending travel.  
Sam broke him out of his reverie.  
" David—how soon 'til Dean can have his arm free?"

David thought for a moment. Dean was a quick healer. --by now the bone should be strong enough.  
"I think he could take it off today. --if you don't mind keeping an eye on him until I get back. At that point I'll want to do some range of motion tests—just to make sure everything is strong enough to handle daily stresses. --Just watch him to see if he's in any pain—you'll know better than I how to tell if he's _hiding_ anything.--"

"—sometimes. —he's a master at it."

"So I figured. –Now with his knee—normally I tell patients to just let pain be their guide. Again-useless advice with your brother. But he can try to bear weight on it now, for short periods. –Brace has to stay on, though--don't want any lateral movement yet."

"What about the IV--?"

"All of today and tomorrow. Then he's done the course. No rushing that, unfortunately."

He finished the dregs in his cup, debating whether or not to take a second. _Probably shouldn't…_  
"Sam—again—don't be in a rush to get away. I know you two are worried about bringing trouble down on everyone—but another few days won't change anything,--ok?  
Just make sure you're both ready for it.--"  
He got up and patted Sam's shoulder. "Besides—I kinda like the company. When you guys leave, I'm gonna have to git me a _dawg…"_

"—Thanks for the comparison—" Sam laughed. He rose to get washed up as David picked up his things and headed out.

"Keep an eye on that idiot today, Sam. I'll see you around four."  
And he was away.

Sam poured a coffee for Dean and brought it to him. He was still fast asleep, sprawled inelegantly on his tangled bedding. He sounded like he was trying to swallow his tongue.  
Sam kicked the side of the mattress, trying to keep from spilling.  
"Wake up, _lazy-ass--"_

Dean swore at him and covered his face with his arm.

"C'mon Dean—I've got a mug here for you. --And I have some good news…"

"—it _better_ be freaking good, or you're getting an _ass-kicking_—" he crabbed, sitting up and yawning. "—What _time_ is it, anyway??"

"About 6:30.."

"--_What?!" _--Are you _nuts??"_

"_Shut up_ and take your cup. We have to get this show on the road, Dean.. We've got plans to make, --stuff to pick up, --people to call.—"

He snatched the mug from Sam's hand with a malevolent glare. "—So what's your _good news_--?

"David says you can ditch your shoulder thing today. And try to weight-bear on your knee if it doesn't feel too bad.--as long as you keep the brace on…"

"Huh. Really--? _Excellent--" _he smiled, mollified. "IV too--?"

"—nope—two more days. Don't bitch—at least you have both hands free again. Now you might be useful finally."

Dean made a face and swigged his coffee. It had been _so damn_ long since he could use his right hand--this was great. And as much as he appreciated David and his hospitality—he was itching to be by himself again—he and Sam—the way he was used to. He liked _all_ these people—but being this constantly social was a strain for him—it was confining. He couldn't wait until they were on the road again.  
Sam had the opposite reaction. The whole _open road_ thing depressed him a little. He appreciated routine, it was comfort for him. He felt so content when he was cooking the other evening... And he'd miss the feeling of home—something he'd enjoyed both with David and Ellen. Well, actually—with Ellen it was more like mother bear's den—with David it was a bit more _frat-house_… He smiled at the difference.

He'd miss them all.

Sam had helped Dean remove the arm restraint.

He sat, flexing his muscles, frowning at their weakened state. He imagined that his right arm looked like a stick compared to the left—an assertion that Sam scoffed at—assuring him there was little, if any -- visible difference. --Felt great to scritch all over though. That compensated a little. He rotated his shoulder and found it relatively comfortable—relieved that the pain he'd felt the last time he did this was absent.

"-Before you try standing on that knee—why don't you try it with two crutches--?" advised Sam.

Dean gave him a look that suggested he had no intention of using the crutches at all. Sam crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe,--a relaxed pose that belied the fact that he was poised to spring and catch his stubborn brother should he need it. Dean stood up carefully—putting all his weight on the offending limb. He took a few steps—testing the waters gingerly. When he could prove that it would support him and walking was possible—he turned around and raised his hands in a _'Ta-Da' _gesture.  
Sam clapped lazily.

"Ok—congratulations—you _are _super-human. Now don't overdo it or David will kill us both. --Why don't you take a shower now--? I'll make us some breakfast."

Dean nodded, grasped his IV stand, and made his way slowly up the stairs as Sam watched.  
When he was satisfied he'd made it up safely he turned his attention to toast and eggs.

Breakfast had gone decidedly cold. Sam thought he'd best check on his brother.  
He usually took his time, but this was overly long even by_ Dean_ standards.

He knocked and listened. _–Nothing.._Finally Dean answered quietly. Alarmed, Sam opened the door.  
Dean was seated, on the bathroom floor—head in his hands. He'd dressed as far as tee shirt and shorts, --the brace was beside him on the floor.  
It was apparent that he was upset.

"What's wrong, Dean—you ok--?" he asked gently—kneeling beside him. It caught him off guard—seeing Dean suddenly vulnerable. A hour earlier he was all bluff and bravado.

He raised his head, and nodded as he ran his fingers through his damp hair.

The catalyst for his emotional state was a near-fall—he'd twisted the knee slightly as he stood in the tub, and had only just managed to avert disaster by grabbing the shower curtain rod as his leg turned to jelly. But it wasn't what was bothering him now.  
His wobble gave him a moment's panic that their leaving could have been delayed had he hurt himself--he was really geared up to hit the road.  
--But Sam had looked tense this morning—planning and worrying over the impending departure—obviously not sharing in his own urge to get away from this all.  
Dean was struck by the sudden realization that because _he _was now nearly fit enough to travel --they were poised to return to the rootless life that was '_normal'_ to them—and he was once again dragging Sam—who'd been such a solid, caring and uncomplaining companion throughout the ordeal—away from the safety and support of this place—these people. Once again, he was forcing his brother to give up any hope of stability. Selfishly--Like he _always_ did. Like their _father _had always done.  
He was suddenly, uncharacteristically, --overwhelmed with guilt, --and regret.  
And when that gate opened—_all _the emotions he'd denied and suppressed throughout the past weeks had flooded out.

Sam sat beside him, quiet. He didn't know what to say—didn't know what the problem was.

Finally Dean spoke, staring straight ahead.  
"—Sam…" he paused—afraid of hearing the answer-- "--do you ever resent me--or—_hate_—me—for dragging you into this crap…? --Hell, if it weren't for me, you'd probably have gone back to school—even after Jess—done the stuff you wanted for yourself… You'd be _defending _criminals by now --instead of being chased like one."  
He paused again. –and looked at Sam with a terrible sadness --  
"--I _made_ you come with me. --I knew you didn't want to. But I didn't want to be alone—so I wrecked your life and _made_ you come with me--:" He rubbed the moisture away from his eyes.. "And this all _sucks._ I never even asked you what _you _wanted…"  
He looked down.  
"—you've been awesome through all of this, Sam. --I never thanked you--instead here I go dragging you off again--"

Sam was shocked.  
"--Dean, look at me. Hey—" He shook his shoulder to get his full attention. "How could you even think that? Come on, man—you've sacrificed yourself on so many occasions on my behalf—I wonder all the time if you ever resent _me._ You did _not _drag me away from anything--I chose it. _You're _my family, --and when Jess was gone there was nothing there for me anymore. You didn't _do _anything—you didn't _make _me come with you—you hear me?"

Dean nodded miserably—unconvinced.

Sam persisted. "Listen, dummy--I'm not a kid, ok? I'm here because it's what _I_ want. And yeah—parts of this suck. But _everything _has a downside. It's also one _hell _of a ride. So—_no_—I don't hate or resent you. Not for t_his_ anyway--just for all the _other _annoying things you do.--"  
He laughed to make sure he knew he was joking.  
"Now snap out of it and I'll drive you to Disneyworld."

Dean smiled a little, --embarrassed. He let Sam haul him up to his feet.

"I guess I'd better _not _get you up this early from now on.—" Sam teased.

"—--don't say I didn't warn you."

Sam waited while Dean put his brace and jeans on, then helped him back down the stairs. He sat him down and microwaved his breakfast again, handing it to him.  
Dean ate it in silence, but felt better afterward.

Sam joined him.  
"--I meant what I said, up there, Dean…. So—_are_ you ok--?"

"Yeah…yeah, --thanks Sam…" he sighed. " –Just sorta hit me that we were leaving—and it's what I want, --but maybe not what _you _want--"

"—Look, -I'm getting stir-crazy too, Dean. –Think we both need a change of scenery. So maybe it's _me_ driving the bus this time…"

Dean made a wry face and was about to say something about their new wheels, but Sam saw it coming.

"—_Figurative_ bus, jerk—not literal--!"

Sam got out the laptop and showed the mapped route he'd planned. Dean glanced at it and shrugged. --Looked ok. Leave from _A _and end up at _B_.  
At the moment he didn't care what was in between. He perused Sam's list of required purchases, adding a few of his own. --_Jack Daniels. -- Corona. --M &Ms. _That oughta do it.

"Dean—where's that number for Bobby's relative?"

"—night table drawer."

Sam retrieved it and dialed. After a brief conversation, and some laughter at Bobby's expense—he hung up.  
"Ok—destination is arranged. That was Sally. She sounds like a fire cracker--this should be good." He handed Dean a note. "Look up this website—we can see the place we'll be staying in--"

Dean pecked out the website name with disinterest.  
"It's not working--"

Sam leaned over and checked. "—_Three_ W's, Dean. You only typed two." He correctly entered the address and the site sprang to the screen.

"Huh…..sure looks better than around here—" Dean admitted. His mood lightened somewhat as he looked at the sunny photos. Sam told him to click on the name of their particular cabin,--one of five the women rented out.

"—which one again--?"

"the _Jezebel_—"

"—that's weird…here it is—"

The cottage was a small, typical _cracker_ style house—pre-nineteen hundred wood frame, one storey, more than slightly decrepit. Interesting details—faded whimsy fretted out in cypress and painted maybe fifty years ago Nice wrap around porch—just don't lean on the railing. It was actually the only older building rented out—the rest were typically 50's slab-on-grade boxes—with no redeeming qualities other than being in florida and near the sea. The Jezebel had character—the kind that developed through history and abuse. It was one of those rare survivors of endless hurricanes, floods, abandonment and countless human catastrophes. It even came with its own cats.

"How come it was available--?"

"—Don't know. Sally said she liked it best but everyone always wanted the _easy _ones…"

"—oh yeah?--Wonder what _that_ means--"  
Didn't matter anyway. The Jezebel would suit just fine. Dean raised himself from the table with a groan. The little mishap in the shower made itself known—his knee rebelled and suddenly two crutches seemed like a _really good idea. _He so didn't want to admit to Sam that he needed them—but he didn't have to. Sam was perceptive enough to fetch them as soon as he heard his brother's complaint. He accepted them from Sam's hands. Didn't even make a face.

"—mind if I crash for a bit--?" he asked.  
His earlier distress had made him weary—and his damned knee ached. He just didn't want to think at the moment. And bloody _hell_—he was up at 6:30 this morning--that was just not _normal._

Sam said of course—no problem.  
He'd shown Dean the plan, --had the destination arranged and gotten his approval. _Let him rest_. He could see the tension in his features,--watched him favour that knee. He was better off horizontal for a while. He wasn't sure if he should discuss the emotional episode with David when he returned this afternoon. Probably_ wouldn't. _This was something that had deeper roots than any current condition.  
Sam checked off his to do list. Destination:_ –check_. Route mapped: _-check. _Van travel-ready: _-check._ Brother travel-ready: almost _check._ Arrange Ash's promised bender--someone clearly _needed_ it--not yet checked--  
That left some shopping. He found his list, read it over, --rolling his eyes and smirking at the most recent additions.  
He waited impatiently for nine o'clock to roll around. Dean had been sleeping over an hour. Finally the stores were open, and Sam threw a baseball cap and light sunglasses on and found the van keys. He stuck his head in the guestroom to check on his brother, and was glad to see he was awake.  
"I'm heading out to pick stuff up--need anything--?"

Dean yawned. "Just a paper. –I put some stuff in your list--"

"Yeah—I saw it—don't worry. Don't do anything dangerous while I'm out, ok?"

Dean snorted. Sam left with a wave. Dean rolled over, seeking oblivion for a little while longer.

Dean lay staring at the ceiling. He was still shocked, --_horrified_-- by his own emotional meltdown. --_Where the hell did that come from??_ He wasn't back-pedaling on the issue it raised, but _jesus--why couldn't he keep his mouth shut??_  
Naturally Sam was great about it. Dean almost believed him. Well—he _did _believe that Sam was partially in favour of the journey. But regarding the bigger picture—now that he'd raised the spectre that maybe he'd sabotaged Sam's happiness—well, --he wasn't convinced by his brother's platitudes.  
Someday he'd make it up to him.. _Somehow._  
But reality had a way of pre-empting the best intentions. At present--they _had_ to leave. They were fugitives. Nothing he did now would change that. And endangering the people they were close to was something neither of them could live with. . It was nothing new, either. It had just been a while since they'd lived out of a car. _Gypsy superheroes. _Saving the world from evil. Be nice if the world gave back every now and then.  
He turned over in an irritated attempt at sleep, but was reminded by the painful tug on his hand that he was still tethered to the IV for two more days.  
_Crap…_  
He was tempted to test David's assertion that the IV and alcohol were a bad mix.. But then—an afternoon of hurling wasn't going to improve his outlook either. And it wasn't even noon. He was just so _goddamned_ bored and restless. He checked the clock radio for the hundredth time.  
Finally he couldn't take it any more. He got up and limped his way to the kitchen for a re-fill. The silence of the house was like an insect boring into his brain.  
He decided to pester Bobby.

After microwaving his cup he sat down and dialed the number. Happily, Bobby was in and answered.  
"Hey, Bobby—It's Dean.—"

_" Dean! how are you making out?"_

" –Not bad. We're a day or so away from hitting the road. Sam's out picking shit up. I'm just hanging around here 'til he gets back. I checked out the van—looks great, thanks again for the loan…."

_"—Did you look under the hood? Not your typical family van engine in there. I added some kahunas. Might come in handy for you if you need to get away from anywhere in a hurry…"_

"I will _now_—sounds interesting. –uh—the impala still ok with you?"

Bobby laughed._ "Yeah, Dean—I kiss her goodnight on your behalf every night at bedtime. She'll be ready when you want her." He paused, then asked "How about you--are you ready to travel? You were still a bit rough last time I saw you.—"_

"I'm ok. Just waiting to get rid of the IV—then I'm free. Other than that it's all good. Sam got us a place with your cousin out there in the keys. He said she sounded interesting.."

Bobby snorted. _"Oh yeah—those two are interesting, for sure. – Wait til you meet Emily--"_

"uh oh—what do you mean--?"

" _--You'll see—"_ he said, cryptically. _"-- She gave you the Jezebel, didn't she--?"_

"—uh,..yeah--how'd you know that--?"

He chuckled. _"Wild guess. Hey--how are the doc and Ellen—did they work anything out?"_

"—Yeah—actually. He decided to skip his hunt, and instead—feels he wants to contribute by being a medic for the hunter community. Good idea—speaking from my own experience. So he and Ellen are—uh—pretty _good_—at the moment…"

_"—Alright." _Bobby said. " _Nice to see some good happen to good folks.—"_

"uh huh…." Dean was thinking about the phrasing of his next question. He paused--"--Bobby--ever think of ditching the whole _hunter _thing?--Have you ever heard of any hunters that were _able_ to do that…?"

Bobby was thoughtful.  
_"Well,…It's kinda like closing your eyes to what you know is real, and hoping that when you open them, it's all different….Just doesn't work that way. Hell—I'd love to wake up one day and not see evil in every damn shadow,--__but it ain't gonna happen…."_  
Bobby knew that Dean was certainly entitled to that kind of self deception after everything he'd been through. He also knew that Dean was always going to battle, and wouldn't be asking that question for himself._"—Why do you ask--?"_

Dean struggled to put his concerns into words.  
"—It's just—Dad taught me to be a hunter—it's what I am and always will be. But Sam--" he sighed.. --" Sam's in this because _I _brought him in. It doesn't _drive_ him. And I feel like crap because he's _stuck_ in this with me now,--you know?"  
He was silent for a moment. " I need to get him out somehow…back to his own life…..I need to fix it, Bobby…."

Bobby could hear the sadness in Dean's voice. He wished he could give him an easy answer.  
"_Have you talked to Sam about it…?"_

"—Yeah. He swears he's 100 in. But I know it's only because of me. He was better off in Stanford, --but I took him away from that. –Shit, Bobby--I wish I could turn the clock back, you know…?"

Bobby was worried by the younger man's distress. It wasn't like him. He was always full steam ahead, repercussions be damned. It's what made him a survivor in this game. --Now he was wracked by guilt and second thoughts when he needed that strength more than ever.  
_"Dean—listen to me—ok? -- Doesn't matter what brought Sam into this with you—it's irrelevant. You and I both know he has danger on his horizon. That yellow-eyed demon is out there watching him. That's an ugly truth that life in Stanford wouldn't change.  
He's a good kid—strong,--perceptive. But he's also naïve, --he wouldn't last a minute without you watching over him. You may feel like crap now, because you've just been through hell, and all you can see is the struggle. But you __are__ his way out—--understand--? You haven't led him __into__ this--you're leading him __out.__ You just can't see it at the moment."_

Dean didn't reply.

_"Dean—someday this demon bullshit will all be over. And then Sam will have the option of going back to his interrupted life. But I tell you now—he would only have that because of you, and if you didn't have him here under your wing now—well I just don't think he'd have that future to consider. And it's a heavy thing—I know—but the truth is—if he's not under your protection right now—he's lost. So no matter how lousy things get while he's with you—it's better than what that demon has planned for him. --I know what I'm talking about, Dean….I've been around…"_

Dean respected Bobby—knew he would never sugar coat anything. He had to consider his words. And what he said did help—he felt the burden of guilt lighten a little.  
"Thanks, Bobby. I hear what you're saying. -- I just woke up today feeling like I screwed everything up…"

_"Well get that out of your head, Dean. He needs you. Right now there are bigger things at stake than Stanford."_

"—Yeah…guess so"

_" Look—I gotta get going. Remember what I said, ok? And call me before you two hit the road--"_

"I will, ….. seeya. --and thanks."

Bobby was gone.  
Dean was glad he'd called him--he felt better about it all. It underlined the threat that hovered over them, but at least he could feel that even if he had led Sam astray—it was ultimately for his own good. He sat and wondered when Sam would get back. He'd been gone for hours.

Sam had done his errands—picked up what they'd need. He was relieved that no one stopped him, or pointed at him, or stared. He was paranoid about being recognized, but then again, it was Dean's face that was in print—not his. That task done, he got down to the real reason he had to get out of the house. He was determined to have a bit of fun before leaving, for Dean's sake. His brother really needed to let loose. _Hell_—he probably needed to get laid too—but he was on his own there.  
His first call was to David. David assured him that by the end of the Saturday he'd be able to drink without issue….if Dean hurled at that point it had nothing to do with drug interaction--just excess. David was all for it—he hadn't used his basement rec-room in ages—he'd love an excuse to dust off the pool table. Bobby was next. He too agreed heartily to come. Ellen was in. And Ash--well, he yelled a rebel howl into the phone that Sam took as a yes.  
It was going to be a great send-off. Leaving these people was going to be hard—but at least they'd heading out on a happy --albeit hung-over, note.

Sam pulled in and gathered up his purchases, calling hello as he stepped into the house.  
Dean was in the livingroom, watching the tube.

"Hey. –What took you so long?"

"Had to go back and forth across town. Plus I was stretching my sweet time away from you—"

"At least you get to go out, bitch. Did you get a paper?"

Sam dropped the newspaper into his lap, adding a people magazine and the latest Maxim. That obviously cheered him up—judging by his grin. He dropped the M&M's onto him as well.  
"Live it up, Dean. I'll buy you more."

"Thanks, Sammy—" he mumbled—already loading the hopper full.

Sam just smiled and went to the kitchen. The day dragged on, nothing unpredictable happening. Boring was preferable to exciting at this point.

David came in at his usual time.  
"Hey, boys. How was your day?"

Dean looked up from his reading. "Good and boring. How 'bout you—sell any black-market organs today--?" he quipped.

"Well, I dunno--have to check my ebay auctions…"

Dean laughed, as did Sam, --emerging from the kitchen. David headed up, changed into sweats and returned, dropping heavily into his favourite chair. He stole the People mag from Dean.  
"How's the shoulder Dean?"

"Great—no problem…..knee's a little achy—but no swelling. Might stick to the crutches for another day—"

"Good—excellent. Just keep that brace on, and the ache should subside. It's just getting used to the movement again."

Dean didn't tell him about the shower mishap. He didn't want to be reminded of it.  
David put his shoulder through some tests and Dean assured him—honestly—that it felt ok.

"How are the plans coming Sam?" David asked. "-- Anybody lined up?--_like Ellen…_

"_Plans?_ Plans for what?" demanded Dean.

"Bon voyage party—Saturday night,--here. Think you wanna join us in an appropriate send off, Dean--?"

"_Hell_ yeah!--will I be able to--?"

"All clear by then." assured David. "Go ahead and drink your face off. You won't be alone…"

Dean's impossibly wide grin transformed his face. "Awesome—you guys are the _best-!"_

"Ash, Ellen and Bobby are all coming. Ellen's bringing food. Ash is bringing some good music—no offence, David.." winked Sam.

"What?—what's wrong with John Denver--?"

Dean snorted in disgust. Sam was kinder—assuring him it was fine-- just wasn't party tune stuff. He caught Dean's eye and shuddered in revulsion.  
Sam put the lasagna David had brought into the oven to heat, and they polished it off once it was baked. washing it down with some beer, and coke for one particular whiner.. The rest of the evening was spent playing poker—at which David was terrible. When his losses topped 70 he called it a night.

"Aw _c'mon_, doc—how did you think we were going to pay for this trip--?" Dean teased.

David yawned. "You'll have to get yourself a richer pigeon—sorry. I'm done--g'nite guys."

They all turned in. It was an end of a good day after all.

There's something special about a Friday. It was always heavy with promise, celebratory—like sure,-the work wasn't quite over, but everyone knew it would be soon,--and who can concentrate on the task at hand under such circumstance?? --Never buy anything factory built on a Friday--  
These and other light thoughts floated through Dean's mind as he woke up.  
--_Last day for the IV. -- _As soon as David gave the green light tonight he was gonna rip the damn thing out, stomp on it and flush it. He smiled at the thought.  
He could hear noises outside his door. That would be the doc getting ready to head out. Dean toyed with the idea of getting up and keeping him company—but he reminded himself that he was _really _not quality early morning material. In everyone's best interest he rolled over and closed his eyes again.

Sam, on the other hand, heard David stirring and did get up. He thought it was only fair to keep his host company, and more importantly--he preferred his coffee freshly brewed rather than the bitter, re-cooked result of microwaved leftovers. Dean wasn't so picky—all he needed was hot and strong.  
Sam and David grunted good mornings to each other,--both gritty-eyed ,--hair everywhere. David had an off-centre rooster-comb happening. Sam's was flat at the back and sticking out one side. --_No one ever waxed poetic about the beauty of man at 6:15 am._ They were incapable of conversation until the caffeine hit their bloodstreams.

"So—what's on the agenda today--?" David asked, cradling his mug.

"Not much—van's pretty much packed. Some laundry maybe. Anything I can do for you--?"

"Actually-you could check out the shape that the rec room's in. Probably could use a clean-up. I haven't been in there in ages, other than to go through to do a wash. Don't even know if all the balls are there for the pool table…."

"No problem—I'll spruce it up."

"Do we need anything –groceries etc?"

"Yeah—a few things, not including party stuff—which I'll get later. I'll phone you before you leave town this aft…"

"Good." David surveyed his younger guest. " You ok, Sam? You look like you didn't sleep…"

"--Just nervous, -a little. I'm spoiled living here, David. Now I have to get used to the idea of endless driving and fleabag motels again. --Sam Winchester—_No fixed address._" he shrugged, smiling.

"You _know_ you two are always welcome here. I have the room, and you cook a _hell _of a lot better than I do…."

"Thanks, David…I'll remember. –But this is what we do, Dean and I. And the moving around is part of it. But circumstances aside—it _was_ nice to have a break."

David spoke carefully now.  
"Sam--I don't mean to pry—but, -you don't seem as well suited to this as your brother. Why do you stay in it? I understand you had a scholarship at Stanford,—man—that's significant—ever thought of going back--?"

_What a minefield. _  
"--It's…complicated. You know my girlfriend died there, right?--I didn't want to be there after that. And Dean had shown up at the same time to tell me that our Dad was missing. ……So, I left with him. --Needed to get away…."

"But you could go back…"

Sam sighed.  
"--well…..there's more to it. I can tell you, -now that you're in the loop. Jess was killed by a _demon,_ David. The same one that killed my mother when I was a baby. And the same one that my dad died chasing…." He paused, looking down.  
"--And somehow….it's all connected to _me._ This thing wants me--we don't know why. Dean has sworn to protect me--he promised Dad. And I kinda _need_ that coverage, you know? Because, as you said—I'm not that suited to this, --but Dean is. –So here we are…"

David was shocked and saddened by the tragedy that these brothers had suffered, -and continued to endure. All he could manage was a quiet _--wow…_

"And that's why I am _so_ glad that you chose your way to help, David. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you were there when Dean was hurt. He would have died—I'm sure of it…." Sam met his eyes- "--and this _will_ happen again, David. Until this demon thing is resolved—Dean will throw himself in front of any danger that comes to me. --always has. It's _f—king hard_--knowing that. --So—you're now the number one position on my speed dial—lucky you….. "

David shook his head in horror.  
"—_Christ,_ Sam…….I had no idea--and yeah—keep me there—call me first-- for anything--!"

Sam smiled wearily. "Count on it."

" This thing—this demon—do you think you can kill it--?"

"--hope so. We have good people working on it."  
He added, smiling —"I sure as hell don't want to be trying to stay ahead of it when I'm eighty and pushing a walker—"

David perceived that Sam needed the mood to lighten.—he sought to change the subject.  
"_Shit_—late--I gotta fly. We'll talk more later, ok, Sam? Any time you need…"

Sam gave him a thumbs up and admonished—"Go!"

When David had left, Sam stuck his head in Dean's door.  
"Hey—_you_—lazy-ass. No more room service—you have all your limbs now.—"

Dean groaned and covered his head with the sheet.  
Remembering yesterday's less-than-stellar morning—Sam decided to let him be until he was ready to rise. He spent some time emailing friends. And Jo was due her update as well—Sam had kept her abreast of Dean's condition via the net. She had almost come back at several points during Dean's struggle/ recovery period—but she always managed to talk herself out of it. Guess she figured it was a lost cause.

Dean finally shuffled in at around 9:30. He wordlessly went to the kitchen and poured, then re-heated, his morning infusion.  
"You look like crap…" He said as he dropped into a chair.

"Yeah, but _you're_ beautiful—and that's all that matters—" Sam countered, without looking up from his typing..

"Whoa—crabby--!" He left him alone for a few minutes until his cup was empty.  
He figured Sam had been an insomniac again, but he didn't ask any more about it. He didn't want to feel the guilt again first thing in the morning.  
Instead he went to make some toast.

He dropped two buttered pieces into Sam's lap. Sam grimaced and picked them up, brushing the crumbs off his keyboard and lap. --_Clueless jerk.. _  
But an email alert drew his attention before he could complain.  
"Well, that's _bizarre_…" he said, still frowning.

"what--?" Dean mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

"I got an email from _Sally_-- from Florida. Listen to this: _Dear Samuel: Emmy is worried—she sees the colours of danger for you. _-- Then she says; _Looking forward to meeting you and your brother, Bobby speaks well of you. _

_Have a lovely drive, see you soon. _--as if the first part of the message is totally normal…"

Dean frowned.  
"--The _colours of danger_—what the hell's_ that _supposed to mean? She doesn't even know us…..Aw _man,_ I hope we're not getting stuck with some nut-cases down there."

"Should we call Bobby--?"

"I dunno--we're gonna see him tomorrow. Might as well ask him then….You know—I was on the phone with him yesterday—and he got all spooky about this _Emily _chick.—like there's something weird about her. –He was sorta laughing when he said it—so I guess it's not a _bad_ weird--" he said, doubtfully.

"Great—" Sam griped. "So now we need to be on the look out for something dangerous--"

"Yeah, well--we do that anyways. --And hey--only if it's _colourful.." _Dean snorted, with a laugh.  
He dismissed it as simply evidence of the quirkiness that Bobby had referred to.

But Sam was unsettled. He was going to make sure he got an explanation tomorrow……


	23. Chapter 23

23

Dean helped Sam with cleaning and readying the rec room for the bash. He seemed to need those crutches more now than before, and Sam thought that was _awfully _convenient at the moment. They found all the equipment for the pool table intact, despite David's worries. Once that task was complete-the brothers once again had time on their hands. This down time was driving Dean round the bend. His psyche needed_ delta D_—change in distance—change in scenery. He was never able to just relax and live in the moment. Always had to find that patch of greener grass…and then drive past it…  
And an agitated Dean meant Sam was prevented from experiencing _any_ peace. He wracked his brain for ideas –trying to suggest busy-work to his brother to keep him out of his hair. Finally he'd had enough.

"Look—would you just get out of my space for five minutes?? You're like my freaking _ADHD_ shadow. Why don't you go check out the van engine so you can compliment Bobby on whatever the hell he did to it.."

Dean thought that was a decent idea, and he located the keys. Sam was clueless when it came to mechanics,--but Dean grew up with grease under his nails. He ditched his crutches at the door, hung his IV bag around his neck with a bungee—an 11th hour invention if his own-- and headed outside.  
It was a perfect autumn afternoon. No wind—warm enough to shed a jacket. Dean looked around furtively—worried over prying neighbour eyes. None were apparent, and he lifted the hood of the windstar. True to his word-Bobby had added some beef to the works. Dean surveyed the tangled mass of engine—understanding all of it. _Bobby was a freaking mechanical genius. _This bus would outrun any state trooper.  
He checked the fluid levels—and, satisfied—he returned to the interior. Sam had things well in hand. The van was equipped with everything—loaded cooler, dry snacks, maps, sleeping bags and camp pillows, --everything necessary for a long drive. And of course—the necessary stash of weaponry and hunter paraphernalia.  
Dean realized for the first time that it was an automatic. He was still less than 100 percent, --working on returning to his normal strength—but he should be able to take over _some _of the driving duties. At least Sam didn't have to do it all. He'd be hallucinating by the end of the trip if that was the case.  
He felt better about it all—knowing he could contribute to the driving duties. It made him more of an equal in this. He hated feeling like he was a _Children's Wish _candidate being driven to a last hurrah at Disney.  
He was struck by the thought that he was out of practice when it came to the gypsy lifestyle. Everyone had been so great—accommodating he and Sam when they needed it most.. He too would need to re-adjust to life as he knew it. He felt that familiar twinge of guilt. Sam thrived on apple pie stability. He himself, felt strangled by it.  
He shut the van door, --dropped the hood, and limped inside.  
Sam had put together some lunch fare. Dean was thankful—he was keenly aware of hunger—coffee and toast just didn't fill the void. He plunked down at the table as his brother carried in some KD and salad.

"Greens first, or I'll sic Ellen on you—" Sam threatened. Dean dutifully consumed his rabbit-food.

"I didn't realize it was automatic.." Dean said. " I can spell you when you're tired of driving…"

Sam hadn't realized the significance either. He had thought of this trip as solely _his _responsibility--thought of his brother as wings-clipped for the time being.-- but this added a new dimension. He realized the relationship between them was close to righting itself, with Dean again resuming the leader's role.  
"That'll be good…..we could maybe skip a stop or two, then—"

Dean smiled—he felt a step closer to _normal._  
"What are we gonna do when we're deep south? I wouldn't mind doing some fishing…." Dean mused.

" What would you do if you actually _caught_ something?—You don't even _like _fish—"

Dean hadn't thought that far. "I don't know--hand it over to you to work your magic…?"

"Fish is fish….you still won't want to eat it."

Dean brightened--" I'll lure a huge mother of a gator with it.--you can take some pix while I wrestle it--"

" Oh _that'll _be a good plan. I'll introduce you as my brother _stumpy_ from then on.."

And so the afternoon progressed. Finally David came home. He was in a Friday mood, and brought a bucket of chicken and fixin's with him.  
"You guys want to eat now or a while later--?"  
Everyone knew that _bucket-chicken _had a limited lifespan—so the vote was for now. They mowed through it, finishing off with some freezer-burned ice-cream. At the least, David was getting rid of his backlog of nearly inedible food stores.

"Dean…..Getting a little tired of your leash yet?" David teased.

"Rip the sucker out, doc. I swear I'll kiss you."

David laughed.  
"Not necessary—_seriously.—" _And he unceremoniously freed Dean from the hated IV. Dean rubbed the raw spot where the line had entered most recently. He almost felt like eulogizing it--but settled for a grin and thumbs-up.

"So when can I _really _celebrate--?"

"Give it a day to clear your system. Just save yourself for tomorrow night—" David advised. "--Knee and shoulder still ok?"

Dean nodded, and stole the remaining solitary chicken wing from the barrel.

"Well your appetite's improving anyway…" David chuckled.

Sam told him that all was ready for the do tomorrow. He planned to pick up all the snack food and some beer etc this evening.

"When are people showing up tomorrow?" Dean asked.

" I guess six-ish--suppertime, since Ellen's coming armed with roadhouse food. Did Sam tell you it's a_ tropical_ theme--? Nobody gets in without a tacky Hawaiian type shirt.--"

"—Dude--c'mon—are you serious? I don't own anything that dorky…"

David assured him that he'd told Sam where in town he could find the appropriate attire.

"Oh _good_…" Dean grimaced.

They retired to the livingroom and numbed their minds watching the tube for the remainder of the evening. Sam decided to put off the last bit of running around 'til tomorrow--he was pretty beat –considering his wakeful stint the previous night.  
None of them made it past eleven this time...

Saturday.

David stretched and yawned. He was awake, thanks to his damned internal clock. --Thank goodness he wasn't a shift worker. Lord knows what he'd be accidentally excising or leaving behind in his operations then. "_Oops"_ wasn't a forgivable word for a surgeon….  
He stared at the ceiling—watching the laboured progress of an anemic looking spider as it made its way across his ceiling—in search of some unwilling breakfast. When it lost its grip on the plaster and rappelled down a silken safety line toward him—David smacked it with a slipper, got up and hastened downstairs.

Sam beat him to it—already brewing the morning _joe._  
"_Shit,_ David! " he scolded "I was going to bring a coffee up to you—"

David shrugged and sat down.  
"Sorry, Sam. --too used to getting up early." He gratefully accepted a cup and carried it as he went out to retrieve the weekend local paper. He liked the local paper. It was filled with un-assuming bits of news, team standings, quaint articles about farming, wildlife, recipes. It refreshed the spirit after a week of absorbing the traumas of the world. And he was one of the rare few who appreciated and looked forward to getting his bundle of store flyers.  
He shared it with Sam.

"What was that store with the funky shirts…?" Sam asked. There was _no way _Dean was getting out of the dress code tonight.

"_Wild Life_—on Elgin St.. You can even get a tattoo there if you want.."

"I'll pass, thanks.—" Sam laughed. " Don't tell Dean, though. He'll probably want one."

"--_Chicken." _David muttered with a grin.

Sam rose to the challenge  
"Ok, fine-- doc—where's _your_ ink??"

David had to admit defeat. He just shrugged and grinned. "Don't make me show you…"

"Yeah, --right." _But just in case—please don't--_

Dean joined them, scratching his head and shooting a baleful glance at the two of them.  
"Don't you people know its Saturday morning--?" he growled.  
He poured himself some instant consciousness and sat with them.

"Sam wants us all to get tattoos—" David lied.

Dean looked at his bewildered brother and raised a brow.  
"—Zat right-?"

"God, _NO!—" _Sam replied.

Dean's mind was already whirling. Tattoos to commemorate their connection. That would be _cool--_  
"—Now hang on—I think we're on to something here. --_Me_—Almost died, but didn't.-- _David_—now one of us—that's huge--…. _Sam--_Saved my ass along with the Doc.  
We're connected big time.--I'd say that's worth commemorating…."

Doctor David interjected.  
"—Yeah, but--don't tattoos kinda _hurt??" _

This time both brothers ganged up.  
" Aw c'mon, David—_grow_ a couple! " -Dean bullied.

Sam added-- _"That's _why you'd pass on this--?"

David's manhood was challenged now..  
. " Ok, fine, _big-mouth_. You two come up with a design that's not _huge_ and embarrassing and I'm in--!" he retorted—instantly regretting his bravado…

"—Cool!—" Dean was, as Sam predicted—thrilled.

They argued for a good hour over appropriate imagery. The final consensus was a heptagram, with the significant Colt in the center. Sam downloaded some good examples of both so that their small town tattoo _DaVinci _wouldn't have to rely on imagination.—a potential for disaster.

David was a little perturbed.  
"Ok—But this can't be _really_ visible—ok? _We_ all may understand the meaning—but anyone else could be a little freaked by it. I can just see the look on a patient's face as they go under—and here's their Doc wearing some sort of witch or devil mark—"

"Up to you _where,_ Doc. --ankle, arm or arse—" Dean grinned.

"I'll decide after I see you two survive it—"

They ate some breakfast, took turns washing up, and piled into the van. Sam drove. David navigated.. Dean hummed some Zeppelin. When they arrived at the shop, they had to pry David from the van.

_Suzanne_ was the artist on that day . She clearly was a fan of the process,--she was covered in colourful images, and countless piercings. Dean showed her the idea and she designed a mock-up for their approval. It was bang on—and he was the first to go.

"Just black. Here—inside on the bicep—about an inch and three quarters.." he instructed.

She began her work.

"Ow. --Ow. _Jeesus _--Ow--! "

The other two laughed mercilessly at his expense. He glared back at them. When it was finished, he admired it and showed them.

"Ok—who's next?" Suzanne goaded. David shoved Sam forward.  
Sam gave him the finger and submitted.

"Same deal—" he said.  
He was damned if he was going to make a peep during his little ordeal—and he succeeded in showing his brother up. Dean was impressed.

" I guess it's _you _now—" Suzanne smiled to the doc.  
He sighed, hung his head, and proffered his ankle. In no time his was complete as well—albeit not without some whimpering.

"_Happy_ now--?!" he griped.

The brothers grinned in unison.  
"Yep. And thanks for sparing us all the third alternative—" Dean quipped. Suzanne _amen'd_ that., with a wink. They got the requisite tattoo care pamphlet and Sam selected some particularly hideously patterned shirts for the trio. Had Dean been paying attention—he would have balked at the choice made on his behalf.. _Too bad. _  
Returning to the van--they next made a stop for party snacks etc, and then stocked up on liquid refreshments. That was all they needed to do, so they headed home.

"So—David--when are you gonna show Ellen your _ink_--? I'll bet she'll be _really_ impressed—" Dean teased.

David hadn't even thought of that. _Now_ he was in trouble..

Dean was struck by a thought.  
"Well I guess we're safe now Sammy….That was kinda dangerous, and Suzanne sure as hell was _colourful_—".

Back at David's—Sam examined his little ink folly. He shook his head. --_What am I, sixteen?? _He was just glad they didn't insist on something else while they were there—like a pierced ear –or _worse._. At least he'd have the last laugh when Dean saw his shirt.  
It was pushing five, and David brought out a round. They toasted Dean's return to active status. Dean had his first taste of alcohol since—well _way _too long.—and he inhaled his beer before anyone was near needing a refill. He had his eyes closed as if he'd reached Nirvana.

"--Oh yeah..." he sighed.

"Hey—pace yourself--we won't even see people 'til six—" Sam chided.

"Bite me, _Mom_."

David got him a refill anyway. Everything was set up--sound system—bowls put out with chips etc—big tub of ice with beer cooling. David suggested they get a practice game in on the pool table.

"Practice?—for what?" Sam asked.

"Are you _kidding?—_Ellen basically _lives _in a pool hall, and Ash too. Those two will beat the pants off us-and trust me—we'll _never _hear the end of it. " David warned with a laugh.

Sam added "She can probably drink any one of us under the table too—"

"Wanna lay some money on that--?" Dean challenged—mischief in his eyes. He did have a pretty damn high tolerance..

"I dunno—you're out of practice.."

"We'll see. Set'er up, David."  
David set the game up and broke first. They all mocked him when the triangle of balls barely separated and rolled lazily for a few seconds. He defended himself—sheepishly--

"Hey—I'm just making sure you guys aren't discouraged by my skill right off the bat—"

"—Oooo--a _hustler—_watch out Sammy…"

They got two games in before the others arrived. Dean was respectable—the other two were pretty hopeless.

"Hey—Hey, come on in!" David welcomed.  
Ellen kissed his cheek awkwardly and carried her boxes of deep fried everything to the kitchen. Ash followed, and David fended off his exaggerated mocking attempt at another cheek peck. He headed downstairs with his box of cd's.  
Dean joined him—making sure David's system had a tape player. He may not have the impala at the moment—but he at least could hear his favourite driving tunes.  
Ash had played by the rules and was decked out in a leafy green shirt with bright red hibiscus flowers.

"Hey--perfect—very _Don Ho_—" Sam assured him. "Where'd you get _that?"_

"Don't ask—!"

Ellen had a bright pink and turquoise sarong over jeans, and wore a lei of silk flowers. They'd never seen her look so festive. Bobby arrived a moment after the others. He came in wearing a pristine new white tee-shirt. David announced to the others that they had a problem—a _non-conformist—_should he be allowed in? There were hoots and shouts of "_No!" _and "_Rules are Rules!"_  
Bobby just grinned and produced a handful of magic markers—and they all pounced on him and decorated his shirt with hand-drawn tropical motifs.  
They killed themselves laughing over the end result—if there were prizes—he'd have won hands down. He thanked them for their artistic effort and produced a plastic flower, which Ellen pinned to his baseball cap. He was allowed in and handed his beer.  
Ash got the tunes blaring downstairs, and Dean took David aside for a moment--

"Listen, Doc.--Sam's gonna be trying to stay sober—so he can be my mother hen.—I'm counting on you to _not _let that happen--you know what I'm saying--?"

"I hear ya—" David assured him with a wink. From then on Sam's hand was never empty.

Ellen suddenly noticed—  
_"Excuse _me boys—but I believe we said rules are rules --where's your _uniform?!"_

"Geez--I almost forgot-" Sam lied.  
He was just waiting until they were all present so Dean couldn't weasel out of it. He sprinted upstairs and retrieved them..  
The shop didn't have Hawaiian shirts per se, but they had plenty of colourful alternatives. David got his batman shirt that he'd chosen. Sam donned his acid green lizards, and Dean was ceremoniously presented with his.

"—Aw—no--you gotta be _kidding _me—"  
They pinned him down and put it on him. Everyone was in stitches as he looked at himself in (not so) mock horror. Sam had found an impossibly bright _Sponge Bob Square Pants _shirt. The entire thing was taken up by a close up of Sponge-Bob's face. It was a thing of _beauty.._  
Dean was a good sport—but he kept an eagle eye out for anyone with a camera—_no damned way there was gonna be a record of it—_

Ellen called that food was served, and the locusts swarmed.

"So what have we got here, Ellen—everything you've hit with the truck in the past month--?" Bobby teased.

"Pretty sure I have some _coon _here—" Dean said through a mouthful.. She raised her hand to deliver a smack but they both ducked her deadly aim.

"Coon--?! _Forget_ it--I save the _good _stuff for paying customers—" she retorted.

"Don't care _what _or _who _is in it, Ellen—it's damn good!" David assured. He got up to refresh everyone-and proposed a toast.

"Uh—ok—here's to—good friends--great vacations--health, wealth—and all things good—" They all cheered.

"-Yeah--that was beautiful, buddy,- but you forgot the most important one—"

David rolled his eyes, blushed, and added – "--Sex…"

Sam laughed and elbowed his brother. " You're an _idiot—"_

When the main course was done—David announced that he had key-lime ice-cream cake laid out in the kitchen. They lined up for it.  
Sam was really feeling relaxed. Bobby was ahead of him and he brought up the subject of Sally's email. He gave a verbatim description, and Bobby chuckled.  
"Yeah—sounds like Emily. She's a bit-_odd_—that one. You know she's blind, right?"

Sam said no, with surprise.

"Oh yeah—from birth. Doesn't slow her down. She's always seeing _auras_—you know—energy fields or something—in her head. I dunno if it means anything. Spooks most folks when they meet her. But she's a doll--heart of gold--. Sally's the tough one. She's an artist—does real well for herself. --Not my kinda stuff—I like paintings of wolves, and wild things--realistic looking, you know--?"

"I figured it was nothing—" Sam said.

"oh yeah—Don't mind Emily. Her aura could have been a warning that someone was gonna stub their toe—she never knows _what _they are about, specifically-"

Reminded of their recent little rebel's act--Sam said—"Hey Bobby—check this out—" And he showed him his recent tattoo.

"No shit--! Ellen—look at this—"

She came over and examined it, giving him a faux scowl. "Sam Winchester—I'd expect this kind of foolishness from your brother—but _you--?!"_

He sought to divert her attention quickly—  
"The doc got one too—"

"What--? Let me see--!" David showed her his ankle.  
"Well no wonder you wouldn't wear shorts, you coward--" she giggled.

Dean noticed that. -Ellen—_giggling._ He'd win this bet hands down.

"C'mon Dean—show yours—" Sam goaded. "_Tattoo,_ I mean--!"

He did—proudly—adding—" You know—_everyone_ here's in the club. You all were there for me and Sam. You should get the same tattoo—"

"How about I just stick to my fond memories—" said Ellen

"Lemme see it—I can do my own—" Ash added.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "—_Pass. _--Anything Ash and Dean think is a great idea is something I'll run screaming from, thank you…"

They cleaned dessert up in no time.

"Ellen—I hear you _suck_ at pool—" Dean challenged.

And the bets were on. They played until the game didn't make any sense anymore. Everyone proclaimed themselves the champion—no one was in any shape to do the math and argue. Dean had his arm over David's shoulder and was speaking to him from the heart. Not very clearly mind you—and David was nodding and winking at Sam.

"Uh oh—Dean's in the _I-Love-You-Guys stage—"_ Sam snorted.

Dean looked up at him and retorted—  
"Yeah? Well Sam's in the _I'm So Sober—Look how Clearly I'm Speaking _stage--!"  
Sam was busted—he _was _trying his best to sound normal—and it was an effort—

"And Iron Ellen's giggling!" he added.

"I am not—!" she giggled.

Ash added something no one understood and they all broke up. Bobby had drawn the designated driver straw earlier—he was laughing out of simple good humour.  
It started to wind down at around 2 am. Bobby was the first to suggest it was time to go. He was feeling his age—recovery time was a lot longer than in his youth.  
"Ash—how about it--? Ready to head home?"

Ash looked up from the couch—said something unintelligible and waved.

"I'll take that as a _yes--. _Ellen—What are your plans--?"

"Think I'll stick around here tonight—" she grinned.

"Okay then. --Doc—it was a _blast—_thanks. Sam—Dean—Best of luck on your trip—Ash—get your butt out to the truck –Time to go!"

Dean embraced him as he was leaving.  
"Seriously –thanks for everything, Bobby—"

"No problem, son. Any time.." He shook Sam's hand and he and Ash left.

Anybody need a refill—?" David asked. Dean accepted another--Sam declined.  
Dean was on the couch--singing a rendition of some Metallica song—Sam had no idea if he was accurate or not. He was pretty sure Dean had put words and phrases in there that weren't likely in the original—  
"Sammy—I _love _you, man—" He mumbled with a smile.

"Ditto, dude—" Sam said—ruffling his brother's hair roughly and _enunciating very clearly. _

Ellen giggled. -- and David smiled.

Sam's departure schedule was shot to hell. Nobody got up 'til noon on Sunday.  
Bucking the trend—it was Dean who was up first. He shuffled into the kitchen--filled the coffee maker with ? amount of coffee—added ? amount of water and fell asleep on the couch waiting for it to brew. The delicious aroma enticed the Sam down. He brought Dean to the conscious world when he tripped over his outstretched legs. Dean growled at him. Sam grumbled back.  
With an irritated sigh—Sam complained—  
"Nice work _jerk._ You made like a cup and a half of coffee and it's black ink.—"

"--Perfect. Pour it for me…"

Sam was going to say more, but the effort was too great-- he just sighed and gave Dean the unintentional espresso, setting up the machine to make a proper full pot. When you're hung over—an extra ten minute wait for your morning joe is a _lifetime._ There was no more conversation until the second attempt was brewed.  
This time around it was David who was lured down. Ellen was not quite ready to join the living.  
David plunked a bottle of aspirin on the coffee table and dropped heavily into his usual chair. Sam brought out the mugs, set them down, and popped the lid off the bottle, and they all had a Bayer breakfast.

Ellen had her pride to maintain—she was determined to be the picture of the sunny morning person if it was gonna kill her. She breezed downstairs—showered and bright-eyed.  
"What a bunch of pathetic old men—" she said to the comatose trio. "Dean—what happened to your legendary capacity? "

Dean turned to David -- "It's Doris Day's evil twin—_run!"_

Ellen ignored that.  
"Well—I'm going to make a big, greasy breakfast.--Fix you right up—"

They shuddered in unison at the description, but once they'd consumed it—they did, indeed—feel like their humanity gained a few notches.  
"When were you boys planning to hit the road?" she asked.

"—about three hours ago—"

"—uh huh. Are you all packed, then?"

Sam nodded. "Just clothes and personal stuff left.. Just a quick shower and we're on the road."

She regarded him with a sad little smile. It had been difficult—stressful—certainly _dangerous_—their time with these Winchesters. But it had been full, and lively.  
She'd miss them.

"Thanks for the grease, Doris—it _did _help." Dean said as he rose to get cleaned up.  
She patted him on the head as he passed..

A short time later, the group was gathered around the van. Dean was already in the passenger seat—wearing his _Ray-Ban_s. Sam stood at the door –finishing his round of hugs and handshakes. David made him promise to call frequently—and keep him at the top speed-dial spot. Sam understood, and exchanging a knowing look with him, --he nodded, and climbed into the vehicle.  
"Well—guess that's it then.. Thanks again for--_everything_. We'll keep in touch—"

And they backed out with a wave and drove away.

David put his arm around Ellen and sighed.  
They stood in silence in the driveway for a while—both filled with worry and relief,--a bittersweet mix.  
It was going to be very quiet around here. Back to normal…

Finally David spoke.  
"Ellen—come with me to the animal shelter. --think I want to adopt a _dog_….."

--End.


End file.
